


Stupid for You

by ix3thehpseries



Series: Mid-Season Hiatus is The Worst, Have a Fic [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake Dating, bc i am a sucker for cute fluff and i just want all my space bbys to be happy, bellarke comepetitiveness, delinquents playing sportsball, everyone else laughing at them, general minty cuteness, i'm mad about the hiatus and this is how i'm coping, it's all au drabbles, lots of fluff, there are seriously just all cutesy fluffy drabbles, you get the gist of what these are gonna be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-13 01:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 24,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10503999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ix3thehpseries/pseuds/ix3thehpseries
Summary: A collection of Modern AUs bc I'm upset about this mid-season hiatus and also trash.19: “Or one where Clarke is the veterinarian and Bellamy is the one who found an abandoned puppy and after their initial visit keeps making up excuses to bring the puppy in to see her.”20: “i don’t like you, you don’t like me, but we’re partners in this so let’s give it our all bc i want a fckn trophy’ AU" for Bellarke.21: "We’re studying in the library and there are two people very obviously fucking in the stacks and we keep sharing embarrassed glances" for Minty.22: “did you actually just blue shell me on our date you fucker?” for Minty.23: "My roommate’s boyfriend is staying over so can I please sleep on your floor?" for Bellarke.24: “You’re afraid that you’ll lose me in big crowds so you always hold my hand but now you just hold my hand when there’s only, like, five people around and I’m getting vry suspicious” for Bellarke.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm mad abt the hiatus and I'm trash, but I'm trying to be productive trash, so I'm gonna try to post a drabble/fic every day of hiatus. Here we go.
> 
> Prompt for this one: “you keep shouting “THIS IS MY JAM” at every song that comes on i have a headache the size of nebraska you’re lucky you’re cute” for Bellarke.

Clarke can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen Bellamy Blake completely, undoubtedly drunk. Most of the time, he has a few drinks before spending the rest of the night watching over all their friends. But tonight the party is at Octavia’s new apartment, Lincoln’s glued to her side, and Raven might have put a little more rum in his last few cokes than he usually does.

Which is the only fathomable reason he’s yelling “This is my jam!” for the eighth song in a row, grabbing Clarke’s hand and twirling her.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, laughing when he pulls her back in. “Every song is your jam.”

She’s got the start of a headache after a long day at the hospital, Bellamy’s shouting doing nothing to improve it, but both of her hands are in his and he’s been pulling her closer with each passing song.

The song ends, so she lets go of one of his hands and tugs on the other, leading him to the kitchen. “You need water.”

On their way, they pass Lincoln and Octavia. Octavia gives her brother one look, snorts, and says, “He can stay in the guest room, but you’re in charge of him.”

“I’m right here,” Bellamy says, trying to shoot his sister a dirty look. His glassy eyes ruin the effect and Octavia grabs his chin, pulling his face toward hers.

“Clarke is in charge,” she says over the sound of the music. “You can stay in the guest room.”

Bellamy pulls away and Clarke has to suppress a grin when he full-on pouts. “You’re my little sister, you can’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles.

Octavia rolls her eyes, but smiles when Clarke says, “Don’t worry, I’ve got him.”

The party’s dwindled in the time they’ve been dancing, and they find Raven sitting on the counter when Clarke pulls Bellamy into the kitchen. She’s chatting with Miller and Monty, but she smirks when she sees them.

“How were those rum and cokes, Bellamy?” she asks.

“I’m never letting you make my drinks again.”

Raven laughs and Miller shakes his head. “Fucking lightweight.”

Clarke grabs a plastic cup and fills it with water. “Here,” she says, handing it to Bellamy.

When he finishes it he says, “I don’t want to drink water, I wanna dance, Clarke.”

She takes the cup back from him and sets it on the counter. “I didn’t even know you liked dancing. We’ve been friends for five years and I’ve never seen you voluntarily dance.”

“I like dancing with you.”

Clarke’s stomach swoops and she can feel the flush making its way across her face.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He must realize how slurred it comes out, because he frowns and instead amends, “I’m a little drunk.”

Clarke huffs out a little laugh. “You’re more than a little drunk. Come on, the party’s almost over. Bed time.”

Bellamy pouts again, but follows her down the hallway. Clarke opens the door to the guest room, which isn’t really a bedroom yet, just an air mattress covered in blankets, unopened moving boxes surrounding it.

She gestures for Bellamy to go in and then follows, closing the door behind them. “Shoes and jeans off, and into bed.”

“Are you hitting on me, Griffin?”

“Obviously.” Clarke crosses her arms over her chest and tries not to laugh as Bellamy hops around on one foot trying to get his pants off. “God, you’re so drunk.”

She steps closer to him and reaches out her hand. With her steadying him, he manages to get his pants off and he pulls his shirt off, too.

Instead of getting under the blankets, he sits on the mattress and tugs on her arm, hard enough that she loses her balance and stumbles a little closer. “Stay.”

Clarke feels the swooping sensation in her stomach again, like she’s on the drop of a rollercoaster. “Bellamy, you’re drunk.”

“Only a little,” he says, like he’s reminding her, and tugs on her arm again. “I’m not going to bed unless you do, too.”

Clarke sighs and kicks off her shoes. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” Clarke mutters.

When she gets under the blankets, Bellamy wraps an arm around her and murmurs, “Night, Clarke.”

***

Clarke wakes up with Bellamy’s face buried in her hair and his arm wrapped around her waist like a vice. She tries to wiggle out of his grip, but he just pulls her closer.

“Bellamy,” she whispers, “Bellamy, let me go, I have to pee.”

He loosens his arm and when she turns to look at him, he’s blinking slowly.

“Hey,” he says, smiling sleepily at her. And then he leans in and kisses her.

Clarke freezes for half a second before thinking “fuck it” and kissing him back. It’s all stale breath and the faint taste of booze and it barely lasts a minute before Bellamy pulls back and looks at her.

When he asks, “Do you want to go out with me?” Clarke just stares at him.

“Are you still drunk?”

“If that’s a no, then yes.”

He sighs when Clarke doesn’t say anything else, just raises her brows at him. “When I asked you to stay last night, you didn’t say no, you just said that I was drunk. Octavia’s been telling me for months to just ask you out, so I thought maybe I should. And I could blame it on being drunk if you said no.”

“And what if I said yes?” Clarke asks, a small smile creeping onto her face.

“I’m not drunk. I really want you to go out with me,” He nuzzles his face into her neck and continues. “I’ve wanted you to go out with me for a while, I just didn’t want to fuck it up.”

“So your solution was to get drunk?”

“That was Raven’s fault,” Bellamy huffs. “I didn’t want to get drunk. Once I realized how much I’d had, I just decided to that it would be a good excuse if you said no.”

Clarke kisses him, briefly, before saying, “Well, then I guess you’re lucky I’m saying yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "we’re always making stupid bets like ‘bet you can’t drink this whole bottle of BBQ sauce’ but then you did and now you’re sick and I feel really bad here let me look after you" for Bellarke.

All things considered, Bellamy vomiting into the toilet after a group event is still probably better than when every outing used to end in a shouting match and the slow, awkward dissipation of all their friends.

And it isn’t like Clarke wanted him to get sick. Somehow, their friendship had evolved from arguing about everything to betting about everything. They still bickered, but instead of shouting, it ended in low-stakes bets that usually made their friends roll their eyes and caused no lasting harm.

Until tonight, when they were arguing about the best type of barbeque sauce and Clarke said that if Bellamy liked Sweet Baby Ray’s so much he should just drink the whole bottle.

“Is that a challenge, Princess?” Bellamy asked, smirking in a way that left Clarke with a feeling low in her stomach that she wasn’t willing to think about.

Clarke didn’t let that stop her, though, grinning at him and saying, “Yeah. Twenty bucks. You have to chug the whole bottle.”

Octavia sighed from the couch, Monty, Miller, and Raven started muttering among themselves, and Bellamy said, “Deal.”

They shook, Clarke got him the bottle, and Bellamy chugged it.

Which is how they ended up in Clarke’s bathroom, Bellamy bent over the toilet with Clarke sitting on the tub behind him, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“You know, you didn’t have to take the bet,” Clarke says.

Bellamy just lifts one hand from where he’s bracing himself against the toilet bowl and flips her off.

“Yeah, yeah.” She continues in an imitation of his deeper voice, “I never back down from a bet, Griffin.”

He shudders and starts retching again. 

There’s a soft knock at the door and Octavia peeks her head in. “Lincoln and I cleaned up everything out here and everyone else is gone.” She wrinkles her nose as Bellamy gags and Clarke winces, leaning forward to run a hand through his hair.

“Is he okay here?” Octavia asks. “We could get him a bucket for the car and drop him off at his apartment.”

Clarks shakes her head. “He can stay. This is kind of my fault.”

“He didn’t have to take the bet.” Octavia says.

Bellamy mumbles something that sounds like “never lose a bet” and rests his head against the toilet.

Octavia steps into the bathroom, kisses the top of his head, and says, “Feel better, Bell. If it helps, Monty won ten bucks because you actually drank it, and Raven won fifty when you ran in here to puke.”

She gives Clarke a quick hug while Bellamy groans and then she’s in the hall again, calling to Lincoln that they can go.

“On the upside, you won twenty bucks.”

“Not worth it,” Bellamy says, coughing a few times. “Okay. I think I’m good.”

Clarke gets up to hand him the cup of water Monty had brought in earlier. He takes a few small sips and spits into the toilet.

“You okay?” Clarke asks. She takes the cup back from him and then reaches down to help him up. Bellamy leans heavily against the sink, but nods.

“Do you have mouthwash or something?” he asks. His voice is a little raw and Clarke winces. He didn’t have to take the bet, but he did and now he’s sick and she feels a little responsible.

She gets him her mouthwash out of the medicine cabinet and then leaves him in the bathroom.

When Bellamy comes out, she’s in the kitchen, pouring a glass a ginger ale without ice. He smiles at her and she says, “This should help. My dad always gave me warm ginger ale when I was sick.”

“Thanks.” He takes the glass and they go to sit on her couch. The TV’s still paused halfway through the movie they’d all been watching before the bet. “I used to do the same for O.”

She turns the movie back on and they settle into the couch. Clarke ends up leaning against Bellamy and his arm goes around her. It’s not the first time they’ve ended up like this while watching a movie and Clarke feels the familiar butterflies that she always seems to get lately when she’s close to Bellamy.

Her plan forms slowly, and she starts fidgeting before she even decides to do it. The movie’s just about over and she waits until the credits are starting to roll before she pulls away from him a little, straightening.

“Hey, Bellamy,” Clarke says, not looking at him and her tone forced casual, “I bet you ten bucks that you won’t kiss me.”

Bellamy doesn’t even hesitate before leaning over. He gets one hand behind her neck, cupping her head to make the angle less awkward and his other hand lands on her hip. The kiss is short, but he only pulls back a bit, just far enough to look into her eyes when he says, “Easiest bet I’ve ever won.”

Then he pauses and his eyes get wide. “Not that I did it just for the bet. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months, all you had to do was ask. I actually had a whole plan about how I was gonna make a move tonight but then you bet me to drink the barbeque sauce and-“

“Breathe,” Clarke says, easy, as she leans against him again. “I figured you’d say no if you didn’t want to. You’re an asshole, but you’re not that kind of asshole.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m the asshole. You made me drink a bottle of barbeque sauce.”

“You didn’t have to take the bet!”

“It worked out,” Bellamy says, grinning and leaning down to kiss her again.

When they tell Octavia the next day, she lets out a cheer and tells them that they just won her one hundred dollars. Bellamy suggests that, as a group, they might have a betting problem and when Clarke bets him that they don't he just kisses her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “I know you are so athletically challenged that it’s pathetic but I’m gonna keep picking you for my ~~team in gym class~~ intramural soccer team because you’re cute” for Minty.
> 
> Every time I try to write Minty it just turns into Monty and Miller flirting by way of making fun of Clarke and Bellamy and I don't know which couple is more ridiculous tbh.

Honestly, Miller shouldn’t even be surprised by this shit anymore. The moment Bellamy asked him if he wanted to do intramural soccer he should have realized it was going to be a train wreck and taken a hard pass. But, no. He said yes and now he’s standing on a soccer field, on an overcast Saturday morning, glaring at Clarke and Bellamy.

Which, again, he should have known. He met Bellamy halfway through his freshmen year, when he decided to move out of his dorm because he had a shitty, homophobic roommate. Bellamy was renting a room and seemed like he really had his life together - he was in college, working almost full-time hours, and had a dependent. It wasn’t until after moving in that Miller realized Bellamy was actually a human disaster who had gotten really good at faking competency.

They met Clarke when Octavia started college in the fall and Bellamy immediately got into some weird, competition-based flirting thing with her and it’s been fucking up Miller’s life ever since. The only good thing to come out of it is Monty, who started out as Clarke’s friend but finds her just as ridiculous as Miller finds Bellamy. They’ve spend the last year shit talking their friends at every given opportunity and somewhere along the way Miller developed feelings that he doesn’t know how to deal with because he doesn’t do crushes.

Monty smiles at him when he goes to stand next to Bellamy, which Miller knows because he was, once again, staring at Monty.

“Pick Monty.”

Bellamy shoots him a dirty look. “I love Monty, but he sucks,” he whispers. “We’re here to destroy them, Miller.”

Miller doesn’t know who Bellamy and Clarke bribed, but for the third time in three weeks they’re team captains, so he doesn’t really feel bad when he pinches Bellamy.

“Do it!”

“Jesus, fine,” Bellamy mutters. After Clarke picks Octavia, he calls out Monty’s name.

Surprise flashes across Monty’s face, but he replaces it with a smile and says, “Cool. You’re changing up your strategy. Maybe this game won’t end in a tie.”

Bellamy just crosses his arms over his chest and frowns while Clarke picks Lincoln.

“Five bucks on Clarke winning,” Monty whispers to Miller.

Miller ignores Bellamy scowling at them and asks, “Betting against your own team?”

Monty grins at him. “Well, I’m on the team, so yeah.”

“I’ll take that bet. Bellamy’s really determined to win today.” They shake on it and Miller tries to ignore the way his hand feels like he’s been shot with electricity where he touched Monty.

It only takes a few more minutes to finish picking teams, good natured groans and trash talk going around, and then Bellamy’s got them in a group huddle, like they actually have any idea what they’re doing. Which they don’t. Their strategy for the last two weeks, for both teams, has basically been to try to get the ball in the net or to throw themselves in front of whoever has the ball for the other team.

Miller interrupts Bellamy’s tirade on how they can best trip the other players without being fouled to say, “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

Miller probably deserves the elbow that Bellamy shoves into his side, but he thinks Bellamy also deserves his dramatic groan and the way he leans onto Bellamy’s back, pretending to go limp.

“You’re not taking this seriously enough,” Bellamy grumbles, while Miller continues to act like he’s dying. Monty laughs at him, so it’s worth it, even as Bellamy continues on, “We’re here to win. I’m sick of our games ending in ties. We’re either going to crush them or we’re going to lose without dignity, playing dirty as fuck.”

“You know that movie where Will Ferrell becomes coach of his son’s soccer team and turns into a total dictator?” Murphy asks. “You’ve become Will Ferrell in that movie.”

Bellamy glares at him and opens his mouth to respond, but from the other side of the field Clarke’s huddle is spreading out and yelling “Break some clavicles!” so he just tells them to head to their positions. Murphy mutters something about, “Maybe they’re both Will Ferrell and that’s why they’re so weird about this.” and Miller starts to feel a little bad for the people that showed up to intramural soccer to get some exercise and activity in their lives and don’t know Clarke and Bellamy on a personal level. All of his friends are used to this shit, but these poor bystanders are getting drawn into their ridiculousness without even knowing what they signed up for.

As they jog up to the middle of the field, Bellamy shoots Miller a dirty look. “If we lose because you made me pick Monty, you’re buying my consolation shots.”

“If we lose, you’re going to be drinking your consolation shots before noon, which is a little concerning,” Miller says. “Anyway, look at it this way. With Monty on our team, I won’t spend the whole game staring at him, so I’ll be on my A game. We’re definitely gonna win.”

“We better,” Bellamy says, as Clarke kicks the ball and the game begins.

Miller keeps to his word and plays better than he’s played in their previous games. He’s also mostly got the rules down now and knows to avoid Octavia because she throws elbows, so that adds to his offense. By the time they call halftime, Miller’s scored a goal, blocked an almost-goal from Clarke, and had an excuse to smack Monty’s ass when he blocked Octavia’s pass to Lincoln.

He’s chugging his water when Monty comes to stand next to him.

“How did you get Bellamy to pick me second?” Monty asks, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m like, pathetically bad at soccer.”

“You’re good at defense,” Miller says.

“I dodged out of the way when Octavia came at me with the ball earlier.”

“Yeah, but you got in the way of her pass to Lincoln, so you still did something,” Miller says, offering the water to Monty. He smiles and accepts it and Miller feels so high-school about Monty having his lips where Miller’s just were that he kind of wants to vomit.

The whistle blows, signaling that the game is back on, and Miller heaves a sigh, “Let’s get this over with.”

By some miracle, their team wins. Miller scores the final goal and Bellamy kisses the top of his head before going to gloat to Clarke.

Miller goes to find Monty and he thinks it must be the adrenaline of the win that causes him to say, “You’re cute.”

“What?” Monty asks, a small, confused smile on his face and his head cocked to the side.

“That’s why I got Bellamy to pick you. I always stare at you while we’re playing and he was getting all pissed about how I would miss the ball. So I told him it would be better if you were on our team.”

“You think I’m cute?”

“I think you’re fucking adorable,” Miller says. “Even if you suck at soccer. It’s cute how you kind of flail while chasing after the ball.”

“Awesome,” Monty says, lighting up, “I think you’re fucking adorable, too. We should date.”

Miller pauses for a second, thinks this might all be some hallucination brought on by too much Bellamy bullshit too early in the morning, but Monty is still smiling at him, so Miller says, “Hell yes.” and pulls him in for a kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "It’s my highschool reunion and I need a hot date so I can rub it in the faces of the people who hated me" for Bellarke.

Bellamy isn’t Clarke’s first option, but all of her other friends are in relationships and she thinks it would be even weirder to ask them.

So, she widens her eyes and pouts at him. “Please?”

He’s in his kitchen, putting various chips and dips into bowls in preparation for game night. Clarke came over early under the pretense of helping him set up, but really she’s just sitting on his counter, kicking at him every time he passes. “You want me to be your date?”

She starts counting off on her fingers. “You’re objectively hot, you have a good job, and we look aesthetically pleasing when we stand next to each other. You’re the perfect fake date.”

“I’m objectively hot?” he asks, turning and smirking at her.

Clarke sighs. “Just shut up and say you’ll do it. I wanna spite the people that didn’t like me in high school. You love spite. It’s like, fifty percent of your life force.”

“I do like spite,” Bellamy says, pausing and pretending to think it over. He’s smiling, so Clarke knows he’s going to say yes, but he’s nothing if not a dramatic asshole. “Say please.”

“Fuck you.”

Bellamy laughs and turns back to his appetizers. “I mean, that’s one way to bribe me, but really, I just wanted you to say please.”

“You’re such a shitweasel.” Clarke hops down off the counts and goes to stand next to him, folding her hands by the chest and batting her eyelashes. “Will you please go with me to my high school reunion?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes and hands her a bowl of chips. “Yes, Princess, I’ll go with you to your high school reunion in an attempt to show your peers that you’ve got your life together and are better than them. Which clearly isn’t true since you’re asking me to go with you.”

Clarke takes the bowl and heads to the living room to set it on the coffee table. “And because of spite.”

“Can’t forget the spite.” Bellamy calls after her.

***

Raven gives Clarke her most unimpressed look when Clarke tells her that she’s taking Bellamy with her to the reunion.

“And you think this a good idea why?” Raven asks. They’re sitting on Clarke’s couch, eating ice cream and watching Food Network. Raven made Clarke go to the gym with her and this is their reward.

Clarke stretches her legs out and rests them on the coffee table. “I think it’s a good idea because I want to show everyone from high school that I’m doing better than they are. Having a hot significant other is essential to the American dream bullshit we’re all taught to value. I would have asked you, but you’re in a relationship.”

Raven snorts. “Yeah, that’s why you didn’t ask me.”

“It is!”

“You asked Bellamy because you have the hots for him but are too afraid to ask him out for real,” Raven says. She shoves a spoonful of her own ice cream into Clarke’s mouth when she opens it to argue. “I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just telling you because I don’t want you going into this without realizing what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“I know what I’ve gotten myself into,” Clarke grumbles, handing Raven’s spoon back to her. “Seriously!” she continues, at Raven’s raised eyebrows. “Obviously I know I’m into Bellamy. But I can keep my shit together for a night if it means showing people that I’m better than they are.”

“Was high school really that bad for you?” Raven finally asks.

Clarke sighs. “My mom was the mayor of a small town. Kids didn’t want to be friends with the mayor’s daughter.”

“So they’re really not gonna like you as a Senator’s daughter?”

“That’s why I’m bringing Bellamy, “Clarke says. “I get to look like I’ve got my shit together and don’t care that I didn’t have friends in high school and I’ve got Bellamy for back up all night. It’s a win/win.”

“Yeah, you’ve clearly got your shit together,” Raven mutters. Then she grins at Clarke. “I think it’s only a win/win if you hook up with your current crush in your old high school.” Clarke throws a pillow at her while she laughs.

***

**Bellamy** : So what’s our story?  
 **Clarke** : ???  
 **Bellamy** : About how we got together.  
For your reunion next weekend.  
 **Clarke** : Ooooooh.  
idk.  
Can’t we just say we were friends and then we started dating?  
 **Bellamy** : If I’m doing this I’m going all in.  
How did we meet?  
When did we start dating?  
How did we start dating?  
What’s out song?  
 **Clarke** : Our song is Pony by Ginuwine because you drunkenly serenaded me with it and that’s how we started dating.  
And we met the same way we met in real life???  
You’re getting way too into this.  
 **Bellamy** : That is NOT how we started dating.  
I am a romantic, Clarke.  
There would have been wooing involved.  
 **Clarke** : jfc.  
I’ll come over one night this week and we can come up with a story.  
Let me know what night will work for you.

***  
They stay at Clarke’s mom’s house because her mom is in DC and it’s more convenient than getting a hotel. On the drive back to Clarke’s hometown, they go over their story one more time and Bellamy teases her about being her fake date.

Clarke’s feeling pretty confident that she’s going to kill it at her reunion until they get there and all of her high school insecurities come flooding back into her and she realizes she’s gripping Bellamy’s hand tight enough that it probably hurts.

“You okay?” Bellamy asks, once they’ve checked their coats and found their table.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, letting go of his hand and fixing her hair. “Fine.”

Bellamy looks at her for a minute. “Yeah, that’s bullshit,” he says. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“I just didn’t have a lot of friends in high school. Nobody liked the mayor’s daughter. And after Wells died, I was kind of a loner.”

Bellamy takes her hand and squeezes it. “High school sucks. But you’re doing great now. I mean, you had to ask me to come as your date, but aside from that.” He grins at her and she gives him a small smile in return.

It’s not until after dinner that he grabs her hand again and pulls her up. “C’mon, we’re dancing.”

Clarke goes along with him, feels herself flush when he puts his hands around her waist and pulls her in.

Her head is resting against his chest and she feels him clear his throat before saying, “You know, you shouldn’t give a shit what these people think, Clarke. You’re smart and funny and beautiful and a good person. I’m sure you were back then, too, and if nobody saw that, it’s their loss. You’ve got a good job and good friends and a good life. Who care what some people from high school think?”

Clarke pulls back to look at him and he’s smiling down at her and she can’t help herself when she leans up to kiss him. He kisses her back, one of his hands sliding up her back to bury itself in her hair and when she pulls away they’re both grinning.

“Miller is gonna be so pissed,” Bellamy says. “He told me that this was ‘some romcom shit’ and that it would be a train wreck.”

“Raven said something similar,” Clarke says.

Bellamy kisses her again before saying, “Well, they can suck it. Instead of fake dating, wanna actual date?”

“Obviously,” Clarke says, leaning in to kiss him again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "i’m the manager and one of the other employees keeps drawing amazing art on the chalkboards, but i can’t figure out who it is?? i’ve been keeping a meticulous schedule to figure out whose shift it appears during"

Miller is the first one that Bellamy takes off the list, because Bellamy knows Miller is shit at art and he doesn’t think that Miller would put this much effort into fucking with him. Miller’s an asshole, but he spends most of his free time playing video games, not plotting ways to make Bellamy think he’s slowly going insane.

The art started appearing three months ago. At first, Bellamy didn’t pay attention to it. There were some decorative doodles around the menu board and a few of the cups had small, repeating patterns drawn on them. Then there was a poster advertising their new seasonal spring drink that Bellamy knew wasn’t there when he left the day before. Easter was a few weeks later and Bellamy actually stopped and stared when he showed up to open and the windows were covered in pastel bunnies, eggs, and flowers.

As the manager, Bellamy feels like he’s got his finger on the pulse of the coffee shop. He knows that Miller has a thing for Jasper’s friend Monty and that Monty comes in solely to flirt with Miller, that Clarke is working at the shop because he mom cut her off, that Harper can deadlift twice her bodyweight. Jasper always comes in high, but he never does it on property, so Bellamy doesn’t care. Lincoln is getting his Masters and gets flustered whenever Octavia comes in and Bellamy’s keeping an eye on him.

Bellamy knows all of these things, so he feels like he should know who the coffee shop artist is. He thinks it should be easy to find out, once he starts paying attention, but after two weeks of careful observation, he still has no leads.

So, he decides to get serious about it and creates a list of all his employees, when they’re working, and when the art appears.

The second person he takes off the list is Jasper.

One morning while on shift Bellamy asks him, “So, those pictures on the window are awesome, right? Do you know who’s doing them?”

“What pictures?” Jasper asks.

Bellamy points to the window and Jasper says, “Holy shit, I’ve never noticed those before.” There’s a lull in customers and Jasper spends the next twenty minutes staring at the window, so yeah, Bellamy’s pretty sure it’s not him.

A few days later he’s on drinks with Harper when he says, “You know, the windows would looks great with some more of those pastel colors, like the Easter eggs were.”

Harper tilts her head to the side and squints at him before saying, “Yeah, that would look good. Why are you telling me?”

“Just thinking out loud,” Bellamy says.

That afternoon Miller asks him why he’s got a list of everyone and their schedules and he says it’s because he’s the manager. Miller points out that there’s a master list in the back room for everyone and Bellamy shoos him out from behind the counter to go bus tables.

The next day, the windows are covered in pastels again, and he waits until he’s got both Clarke and Lincoln in the shop to say, “You know, O’s looking for someone to do some design work for posters for the gym she works at. Do you guys know anyone that would be interested?”

“Octavia didn’t mention that to me,” Lincoln says as he heads to the back room for more cups.

“When were you talking to Octavia?” Bellamy calls after him.

Clarke pokes him in the side as she passes. “Don’t go all big brother on him,” she says, sticking out her tongue when he glares at her. “Jasper’s friend Monty is a graphic designer. I’m sure Miller could get you his number.”

“It would give Miller an excuse to get his number,” Bellamy says.

“A good wingman and a good brother. Too bad you’re not a good manager,” Clarke says, sending him a shit-eating grin.

After two weeks of his investigation, Miller finally takes pity on him. “Dude, you know what correlates with when the art started showing up? You stopped being a dick to Clarke.”

Bellamy pauses for a second, almost letting the cup he’s filling overflow. He finishes it off, calls out the name, and smiles at the customer who picks it up. Then he turns to Miller and asks, “When did you figure that out?”

“Literally two days after you started stalking us,” Miller says. “And before you ask, I did talk to her and she is doing it. She waits until close, uses the emergency key to get in, and does it so that it’s there in the mornings.”

“How does she even know where the emergency key is hidden?”

“Jesus Christ, we all know where the emergency key is hidden. You’re not sneaky, that’s how we all knew you were keeping tabs on us to figure out who was doing the art,” Miller says. “But you’re missing the point. Clarke’s been doing the art. Clarke’s coming in after close to do the art. When I asked Clarke about the art, she told me that if you didn’t figure it out, I should give you a month before I told you it was her.”

“This is a lot to process,” Bellamy says, leaning against the counter.

“You’re a disaster,” Miller says. “What I’m trying to get across to you is that you should come after close tonight to catch Clarke doing her drawings or whatever and then you can confront her and make out and stop making us uncomfortable with your sexual tension.”

“Right,” Bellamy says, pushing off the counter, pausing, then glancing at Miller again. “You guys are good here, I’m taking the rest of the day off.” He shoots Miller another look and Miller rolls his eyes.

“Go get your shit together, Blake.”

When Bellamy shows up that night around nine, there’s a light on in the coffee shop and he can see Clarke through the window, wearing all black and drawing elaborate flowers on the glass.

She sees him when he’s at the door and she pauses, sending him a sheepish grin.

The first thing Bellamy says when he’s through the door is, “You’re the one that’s been doing all the art! I’ve been trying to figure out who’s been doing it for weeks.”

Clarke stands, one hand still holding a paintbrush, and says, “Guilty.”

She doesn’t say anything else, and Bellamy realizes that he didn’t have a plan further than catching her in the act. “Um,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Miller was the one who realized that it started after I stopped treating you like some spoiled college kid who was just working to have a job on their resume. He told me that you told him to tell me it was you.”

“I thought it would be nice,” Clarke says. She’s shifting from foot to foot and if the lighting was better in the shop Bellamy would be able to see the blush making its way across her cheeks. “And then you never said anything about it, so I just kept doing it and making it more and more obnoxious to get you to notice. Then I realized you did notice and were trying to figure out who it was instead of just asking us.”

“I should have been able to figure it out!” Bellamy says, but he’s grinning and Clarke’s eye roll is fond. “I’m the manager! I should know what’s going on in my own shop.”

“You definitely get an A for effort,” Clarke says. She’s grinning now, too, and when Bellamy takes a step closer to her, she steps right into his space, looking up at him. “I was trying to get you to notice me.”

“I always notice you,” Bellamy says. “You’ve been a pain in my ass since I hired you.”

Clarke pushes his shoulder, but she leaves her hand their and Bellamy leans down a little.

“So, as your manager, I’m going to need spoken consent that I’m not coercing you into kissing me,” he says.

“You the worst manager ever. You couldn’t even figure out which employee was vandalizing your shop,” she says. She uses the arm on his shoulder to pull him down the rest of the way and says, “Just fucking kiss me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "We work out at the same gym and you are my declared rival because we have the same workout routine and you are always better than me and on my way to the locker room I passed you in the shower where you were singing the opening of hannah montana and I can still hear you and you switched to the lion king now and even though I hate you I think I am kind of in love with you AU." for Linctavia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this prompt and thought it would be perfect for Linctavia and then I wrote this prompt and realized that I'm not that great at writing Linctavia.

Octavia doesn’t set out to get a gym rival, it just kind of happens. There’s this tall, buff dude who looks like he could bench press her body weight and it pisses her off because she has to put in work to grow muscle and every time she’s at the gym, this guy’s doing cardio.

And, yeah, okay, logically she knows that he probably lifts weights before she gets there or on different days. He must lift sometime because there’s no possible way he can maintain his arms without lifting weights. But she never actually sees him doing it, she just sees him barely breaking a sweat on the treadmill while she’s trying to hit a new max on her deadlift.

The worst part is that he’s nice. He smiles at her when she walks in. When she didn’t realize she left her bag unzipped and all of her stuff came tumbling out, he’d helped her pick it up. She’s seen him offer to spot people and if there’s equipment left lying around the gym, he puts it away, even when he wasn’t using it.

So, he becomes her gym rival. He doesn’t know it, but she sets herself goals like hitting her numbers or getting all of her accessory work done before he finishes. Sometimes she realizes she’s glaring at his back while she’s squatting or pressing and the outrage she feels when she looks at him definitely adds some strength to her workouts.

She’s walking past the showers on a Thursday evening, feeling pretty great after hitting legs, when she hears someone belting out “The Best of Both Worlds” by Hannah Montana and she pauses because Hannah Montana went off the air like, five years ago and whoever’s singing it is actually pretty good.

The singer does the whole song and then launches into some Taylor Swift while the water shuts off. Octavia hangs around until she hears footsteps and then busies herself at her locker, peeking over to see who was singing.

She almost drops her water bottle when she sees her gym rival come out and he shoots her a sheepish smile when he notices that she’s looking at him.

“I guess I was singing a little louder than I thought,” he says.

“Yeah,” Octavia says. “I mean, Hannah Montana isn’t my usual gym music, but to each their own.”

He smiles at her again and, wow, she knew her gym rival was hot, but she didn’t know he had model-white teeth and a perfect smile.

“This might be a weird question,” he says, “But do you by any chance know Clarke Griffin?”

“Um,” Octavia says, confused. “Yes. Why?”

“I was just wondering,” her rival says. “We’re friends and she was talking about a friend of hers that sounded a lot like you.”

He smiles at her and tells her to have a good night and that’s that. Her gym rival knows Clarke and has apparently been talking about her.

When Octavia storms into Bellamy’s apartment she’s not surprised to find Clarke there.

“Why have you been talking to my gym rival about me?” she demands.

They’re sitting on the couch, eating take out. Bellamy squints at her and Clarke pauses with her food halfway to her mouth. She slowly lowers her fork back to the container and says, “Yeah, no, I tried to understand, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Octavia sighs and flops down on the couch next to Bellamy. “My gym rival,” she says, gesturing, “Big guy, tattoos, super buff. Looks like he could probably bench press Bell?”

Recognition dawns on Clarke’s face. “Lincoln!” she says, smiling, “He’s a friend of mine, an artist- wait did you call him your gym rival?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, “O’s a little competitive, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Shut up,” she says, stealing a piece of chicken out of the container on his lap. She turns her attention to Clarke. “He’s always there at the same time as me and he never even fucking lifts and he looks like that!”

“So you decided he was your rival?”

“Obviously,” Octavia says. Bellamy snorts and she pinches him. “Why were you talking to him about me?”

“He was talking to me about you,” Clarke says. “He mentioned some girl at the gym and I realized he was talking about you and told him to say hi.”

“Oh.”

Bellamy glances over at her. “What did you say when he said hi? Please tell me that you called him your gym rival to his face.”

“I didn’t call him my gym rival.” Octavia says. “I was just caught off guard. Why would my gym rival know Clarke? And be talking about me to Clarke?”

“Because he thinks you’re cute,” Clarke says.

“Yeah, well.” Octavia says, blushing. “He was singing Hannah Montana in the shower.”

The next time Octavia’s in the gym her rival – Lincoln- waver at her when she walks in and she spends the rest of her workout glowering at his back. When she’s finished up, she pulls her headphones off and she once again hears singing.

This time he’s belting out “I Just Can’t Wait to be King” from The Lion King and Octavia smiles to herself. Maybe she could get Clarke to formally introduce her to her gym rival.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I wanted to go on the ferris wheel but there has to be two people to a cart ~~come on random person~~ let’s go oh wait are we stuck at the top? Fuck." for Bellarke.

Bellamy was never a big fan of the carnival. Growing up poor will do that to you. He could never spend enough money to win Octavia the prize she wanted, they could only go on one ride, and the sticky, too-sweet cotton candy was never worth the amount of money that it cost.

As an adult, Bellamy is even less of a fan.

Now, he’s surrounded by loud, over-eager children who are demanding tickets for rides, money for games, and some ridiculously over-priced novelty hats that Bellamy doesn’t understand why anyone, let alone a middle schooler, would want to buy. It’s not exactly how he wants to spend his day off, especially when they’ve been here long enough for the sun to set and the over-bright lights of the carnival to come on.

But Octavia organized the outing and she told him Clarke would be there, which she knows is guaranteed to get him to anything, so here he is.

He and Miller are watching Monty and Clarke heckle Octavia, Lincoln, and Raven while they play some game where you have to get your car from one end to the other by spraying water at a target. Jasper went off to find “something weird and deep fried” and Roan’s behind them playing the game where you slam a hammer down and try to make the weight hit the bell.

“This is hell,” Miller says to Bellamy, shifting closer as a small child carrying a stuffed animal as big as she is runs by. “Like, if I were to go to hell, this would be it. Why are we here?”

“Because we’re pathetic,” Bellamy says.

“You’re pathetic,” Miller mumbles, automatic, and Bellamy snorts.

“Like you’re not here just because you have a giant crush on Monty.”

“Whatever. My crush on Monty is way less obvious than your crush on Clarke.”

“Is not.”

They argue for a few minutes, until Octavia wins and comes over to bop them both on the head with her new inflatable sword. “This is fucking awesome!”

“How much sugar have you had?” Bellamy asks.

Octavia bops him again, albeit a bit harder. “Stop ruining the carnival, Bell, I’m making up for our shitty childhood.”

“Yeah, Bell,” Clarke says, poking him, “Stop ruining the carnival.”

“I’m a teacher,” Bellamy says. “I’m supposed to ruin children’s fun.”

“I knew that was part of your job description,” Roans says from behind him.

“Jesus Christ,” Millers says, taking a step back. Roan’s got a giant stuffed gorilla sitting on his shoulders and Raven lights up when she sees it.

“Nice one, babe!” She’s got a blue dog under her arm and Bellamy thinks his friends are having a competition to see who can win the most ridiculous prize, but he’s not entirely sure.

“Tilt-a-Whirl time!” Octavia announces, grabbing Lincoln’s hand. He gives her a fondly exasperated look, but follows her path through the crowd. The rest of the group trails them, and Bellamy ends up walking next to Clarke.

“You know, for someone who spends most of their day with children, you’re weirdly terrified of them,” Clarke says.

“That’s different,” Bellamy says. “In school, I’m in charge. Here, they’re running wild, hopped up on sugar, and probably vomiting from the Gravitron.”

Clarke snorts, “You really hate the carnival, huh?”

“It’s not my favorite place.”

They reach the Tilt-a-While and start dividing themselves into groups for the ride.

“I’m actually gonna sit this one out,” Clarke says. “Spinny rides give me headaches.”

“I’m out, too,” Bellamy say, probably quicker than he should if Miller’s unimpressed look is anything to go by.

“Oh perfect,” Clarke says. “We can go on the Ferris Wheel while they do this.”

“What?”

“Come on,” Clarke says, grabbing his hand and tugging. “You have to have two people to a seat and I don’t wanna be stuck with someone I don’t know.”

They’re making their way through the crowd before Bellamy really knows what’s happening and when they stop in front of the Ferris Wheel he says, “I don’t think I agreed to this.”

“Too bad. It’s the best ride and you’re going on it with me.”

“I really don’t-“

“You’re doing it!” Clarke says, tugging on his hand again. The wait is short and Clarke hands the ride operator their tickets. Bellamy’s left side ends up pressed against Clarke’s right when they get into one of the tight seats and then they’re rising swiftly into the air.

Well, they’re rising. Their ascent is actually halting, but after a few minutes the ride is all loaded up and they start going at a steadier pace.

Clarke’s grinning, grabbing Bellamy’s arm and pointing out that they can see their friends still waiting in line for the Tilt-a-Whirl, and then, once they get higher, the city lights.

A small smile makes its way across Bellamy’s face and he waits until the telltale stop and go of other carnival-goers exiting and entering the ride to tell her, “Yeah, this is definitely the best ride.”

“Duh,” Clarke says. She’s still holding onto his arm and she leans her head onto his shoulder as they near the top one last time. “I’m always right, especially when it comes to the Ferris Wheel.”

Their seat is at the very top when the ride jolts and stops moving. They’re both silent for a second until Bellamy says, “That didn’t seem good.”

“It was a little ominous,” Clarke agrees.

There’s no movement for another five minutes. Clarke’s slumped fully against Bellamy now, so he feels more than hears it when she sighs. “We’re stuck.”

“No shit.”

She nudges his shoulder and he looks down at her. She’s look out at the city lights again and she says, “At least we’ve got a beautiful view.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, still looking at her. His voice is strained and Clarke turns to look at him, bringing their faces closer together.

Bellamy lets his gaze drop to her lips and then they’re both leaning in. The seats of the Ferris Wheel aren’t the most conducive to making out, but Bellamy manages to land one hand on her thigh while the other cups her neck to better their angle and Clarke gets one of her hands in his hair. It’s a little clumsier than he expected, but it’s still one of the best kisses of Bellamy’s life.

The ride suddenly jolts and then they’re moving again, their descent slow.

Clarke leans back in the seat, a smug smile on her face.

It gives Bellamy the courage to ask, “Did you plan to seduce me on the Ferris Wheel or did it just work out that way?”

She laughs. “I planned to seduce you at the carnival. It just worked out that it happened on the Ferris Wheel.” The light flush on her cheeks is the only sign that she’s as nervous as Bellamy is.

“Well,” he says, grabbing her hand and squeezing. “Consider me seduced.”

They’re still holding hands when they reunite with the rest of the group and Miller gives them one look before saying, “You made out at the top of the Ferris Wheel, didn’t you? God, you’re straight out of a fucking romcom.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “i was on my balcony and you started loudly quoting romeo and juliet at me” for Minty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some short, sweet Minty fluff bc I wrote a lot yesterday and am feeling a little burnt out, lol.

Monty’s been dating Nate long enough to know when it’s time to cut him off. Normally he can stay on top of it. He knows the signs. All of them do.

Nate’s smirks start turning into genuine smiles. He gets a lot more tactile – every time Monty turns to look for him he’s got an arm around Octavia or he’s kissing the top of Bellamy’s head. After a while he starts getting a little glassy-eyed. Then, he starts calling everyone ‘babe’.

If he starts quoting Shakespeare, that’s when it’s too late.

“'But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?'”

“Oh, fuck,” Monty says, looking up.

They’re at Clarke’s childhood home for spring break because her mom’s in D.C. and the house was empty. It’s their last night before they drive back to school, so they’re drinking all their remaining alcohol, and Nate might have had a bit much, as evidenced by his standing on the balcony. He’s got one arm gripping the railing for balance, the other gesturing wildly, while he continues the monologue.

“I told you to follow him when he went to the bathroom,” Bellamy says from the other side of the fire. Clarke’s curled into his side, an amused smile on his face.

“You better go get him,” she says.

“It’s your house,” Monty says. “You would probably be responsible for any lawsuits if he falls off the balcony.”

“He’s your boyfriend,” Clarke shoots back. “You would probably be responsible if you didn’t go find him when he drunkenly wandered away.”

“He told me he was going to pee! I didn’t think I needed to follow him.”

“I don’t know what he’s planning once he finishes the monologue, so you should probably stop stalling and just get up and get him,” Octavia interjects, phone out and filming Nate.

Monty sighs, like it’s a hardship to go take care of his drunk, adorable boyfriend, and stands. He looks at Clarke. “You just don’t want to get up.”

Both Clarke and Bellamy turn red and Monty shares a high-five with Raven as he passes her.

Nate’s just finishing up the monologue when Monty opens the door to the balcony.

“Monty!” Nate says, a little too loud and a little too slurred.

“Hey, Nate,” Monty says, smiling.

“I haven’t seen you in forever, babe.”

“You saw me ten minutes ago,” Monty says. “Then you went to pee and somehow found your way up here.”

Nate points at him. “Balcony.” He says. “I’ve been wanting to get up here all night.”

“Ah,” Monty says, realization dawning. “You’ve been hiding how drunk you are.”

“Babe,” Nate says, serious and still pointing. His glassy-eyes ruin the effect, but Monty still nods like he’s fully participating in the conversation and not thinking about how he’s going to tease Nate about this for the next week. “There’s a balcony. How could I not do _Romeo and Juliet_?”

“How could you not?” Monty repeats solemnly. Then he reaches for Nate’s hand. “But now that you’ve finished the balcony monologue, why don’t we go back downstairs?”

“Fine.” It’s whiny and drawn out, but Nate follows Monty out to the backyard without any more incidents and when he joins the group they burst into applause.

“See, babe,” he says to Monty. “They appreciate the art.”

“So do I. I just appreciate it more when you’re not two stories off the ground.” Monty says. As soon as he sits down, Nate’s gets his arm around him and kisses his cheek.

“But, babe, it was for the art.”

“I know.” Monty says.

Nate doesn’t start spouting off anymore Shakespeare and Monty thinks it might have been a fluke and Nate hasn’t reached his limit yet.

Then, when the group slowly starts dissipating and breaking off to go to bed, Monty realizes he was very, very wrong.

“Nate, come on,” Monty says, tugging on his hand. He was trying to subtly give Clarke and Bellamy some alone time when he suggested that he and Nate go to bed, but Nate wasn’t about to let the opportunity for more Shakespeare go.

“'Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.'”

Monty grins when he hears Bellamy mutter, “Jesus, and he says I’m the dramatic one,” behind them. 

They find Raven, Octavia, and Lincoln still sitting up in the living room, so Monty lets go of Nate and gives him a gently push toward the center of the room.

“The floor is yours, babe.”

Nate grins and launches into _Hamlet_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "We work in the same office and you have a goddamn squeaky chair and you wONT FUCKING STOP SQUEAKING IT BECAUSE YOU KNOW IT ANNOYS ME" for Bellarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going up late and is on the short side bc I was babysitting all day, butttt it's still going up.

_Squeak._

Clarke still doesn’t quite understand her relationship with Bellamy Blake or how it got to this point. When she started at the company, he gave her a hard time because her step-father was the CEO. When he realized that she was good at her job, he shoved a box of homemade chocolate chip cookies at her while mumbling an apology. She doesn’t know if she would call them friends, per se, but she’s been with the company going on two years and Bellamy is the person that she’s closet to in the office.

Which is why she knows that he knows that his squeaky chair irritates her to no end.

_Squeak._

She takes a deep breath. “Bellamy, I swear to God-“

Bellamy tilts back in his chair and peers around his cubicle into hers. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

“You know what’s wrong,” Clarke says, flat.

He grins. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bellamy.”

“Clarke.”

She glares at him. “Bellamy, you’ve been doing this all week. Just get a new goddamn chair.”

“I like this chair,” he says, squeaking it again. “It’s molded perfectly to my ass.”

“You are an ass,” Clarke grumbles.

_Squeak._

“Bellamy!”

And so it goes.

***

_Squeak._

“I know how much you love history,” Clarke says sweetly, “so when I stab you to death with this pen, I’m going to do it twenty-three times.”

Bellamy considers it for a minute.

“Honestly, you’d probably have to do more than that to kill me with a pen, and once you get over thirty it’s just excessive. Maybe find a better way to kill me.”

He grins at her and she throws her pen at him - soft enough that he can catch it, but fast enough that he has to put effort into the catch.

“Rude.”

_Squeak._

“Pot calling the kettle black.”

***

_Squeak._

“Am I bothering you?” Bellamy asks, the picture of innocence as he leans around the wall that separates their cubicles.

“Are you a jackass?” Clarke mimics.

“That was a little hostile.”

“Your face is a little hostile.”

That’s a lie and Clarke knows it. Bellamy’s face is unfairly pretty for someone that’s such a pain in her ass.

Bellamy snorts. “Your witty banter is getting less witty, Princess.”

“That’s because I’m slowly going insane due to your goddamn squeaking,” Clarke says.

_Squeak._

“I hate you.”

***

After a month of Bellamy’s squeaking chair, Clarke’s in the break room with Monty when he says, “Maybe Bellamy doesn’t know his squeaky chair bothers you.”

Clarke rolls her eyes as she pours their coffee into mugs. “He knows just how much it bothers me!”

“How do you know that?” Monty asks, accepting the mug she offers him.

“Because I tell him every fucking day!”

“Okay, how about this” he says. Clarke can see him holding back a smile and she frowns at him. “Did you ever think that maybe he’s squeaking his chair every day so that you’ll come yell at him about it and he’ll have an excuse to talk to you?”

“What?” she asks.

“Bellamy is into you.”

“He is not.” Clarke says, waving him off.

“Clarke,” Monty says, fully grinning at her now, “It’s like when a little boy pulls on a girls pigtails when he likes her. Clearly, Bellamy never got past that phase.”

He leaves the break room and Clarke frowns into her coffee.

***

“Hey, Princess.”

_Squeak._

Bellamy smiles at Clarke when she perches herself on the edge of her desk, ankles crossed.

“Hey,” she says, getting right to it. “Are you trying to flirt with me by squeaking your stupid fucking chair?”

“I-“ Bellamy says, opening his mouth and then thinking better of it. “Is it working?”

“Seriously?” Clarke asks. Bellamy just stays silent, avoiding her gaze and fidgeting with a pen. She nudges him with her foot and he looks up. “It would have worked a lot quicker if you just asked me out instead of annoying me half to death.”

“Wanna go out with me?” Bellamy asks with a small, nervous smile on his face.

“Stop by my desk on your way out and we can go get dinner,” Clarke says, hopping off his desk and pushing on his shoulder a little as she passes him, causing his chair to squeak.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “We’re both baristas and sometimes I have trouble reaching for things and I show up to work one day to find a personalized stool with hearts and my name on it i hATE YOU but also thanks” for Bellarke.

Honestly, Bellamy’s not that much taller than her, so he really has no place being as smug as he is. And Clarke’s not even that short. She’s a completely average height.

It’s not her fault that the shelves in the coffee shop storage room were built for fucking giants.

And she can almost reach, her fingertips just a few inches away from the cups.

“You should just get a step stool,” Bellamy says from behind her. His chest brushes her back as he reaches up and grabs the new cups that they need at the counter.

Clarke turns, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s letting the shelves win, Bellamy.”

“Right,” he says as he rolls his eyes, “And we wouldn’t want that.”

“Exactly. I’ve gotta show those shelves who’s in charge.”

Bellamy snorts. “You’re so ridiculous,” he says. “Just accept that you’re a short and will never be able to reach the top shelf.”

“You’re not even that much taller than me!” Clarke huffs.

“I’m tall enough to reach the top shelf,” he says, shooting her a grin on his way back to the front of the shop.

***

Two days later, Clarke’s trying to wash off the spring drawings she’d done on the windows so that she can replace them with some arts-y ads for their new flavor when she hears someone make a disapproving noise behind her.

“Seriously?” Bellamy says.

Clarke doesn’t turn to look at him, just continues her scrubbing and asks, “What?”

“You won’t get a stepstool, but you’ll stand on a chair to clean the windows?”

“I have to put in effort to get a stepstool,” Clarke says. “The table’s already here. It’s easier.”

While she’s talking her weight shifts and the next thing she knows, the table’s wobbling, her arms are flailing as she tries to regain her balance, and then Bellamy’s hands are on her hips, steadying her.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, letting go once she’s stable, “Just get a goddamn stool, Clarke.”

She climbs off the table and tries to ignore the blush on her cheeks.

“That would be letting the window win.”

“Dou you have a personal vendetta going with all inanimate objects in the coffee shop or is it just the shelves and the window?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke hums in response. “I think it’s just those two, but I’ll keep you updated.”

***

Clarke lets out a yelp as the box of hot-drink sleeves falls and hits her shoulder on its way down.

A few seconds later, the door bursts open and when Bellamy sees her, he sighs.

“You probably deserved that,” he says.

“Fuck off,” Clarke says, picking up the box. “It didn’t even fall on me.”

He raises his eyebrows and she relents, “It hit my shoulder, but barely. I just lost my grip.”

“You know,” he starts, but Clarke cuts him off.

“Don’t say anything about a stepstool,” she says.

He holds up his hands. “I wasn’t going to. I know you’ve got some weird aversion to them.” He grins at her glare. “I was going to say, you could just ask for help. I would’ve gotten those for you.”

“I can reach them,” Clarke says stubbornly.

Bellamy tugs on the end of her braid as she passes him on her way to the door and says, “Yeah, that’s why they fell on you.”

***

A few days later, Bellamy tells Clarke that they’re out of cups for iced drinks as he’s ringing up a guy in a suit and she sighs, knowing that they’re on the top shelf and it’s going to take at least five minutes for her to get them.

When she walks into the backroom, there’s a stool in the middle of the floor.

It’s made out of wood and the step says “CLARKE” in a deep blue that stands out against light wood. It’s surrounded by hearts and rainbows and there’s a large, red bow on it.

She hears the door open behind her and she turns to a smirking Bellamy.

“We’re not really out of cups,” he says. “I just wanted you to see your present.”

“You made me a stool,” Clarke says, voice carefully blank.

“Um,” Bellamy says, his smirk fading into a nervous smile. “Yeah? I know you don’t want to let the shelves and window win, but it’d be so much easier if you’d just use a stool-“

He stops talking when Clarke hugs him and it takes a second for him to wraps his arms around her back.

“You’re such a dick,” Clarke says, fond. “I don’t need a stool.”

Bellamy starts to pull back but she tightens her arms around him and continues. “But thank you. It’s very pretty and I’m definitely gonna stand on it whenever I get into arguments with Murphy so that I can intimidate him by being taller than he is.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I took a bunch of free condoms from health services just because i could and they all fell out of my bag at once and now you’re staring at me weirdly." for Minty.

Monty’s not having a great day. He woke up late, he didn’t get to eat breakfast, and his hair is doing that thing that he hates. Jasper’s still not talking to him after their argument about who the best Avenger is, his printer wouldn’t work so he had to go to the library to print his essay, and when he was eating lunch a bird pooped on his shoulder.

When he puts his head down on the table and declares that this is the worst day of his life, he hears Raven stifling her laughter and Clarke says, “Well, you know it’s supposed to be good luck when a bird shits on you.”

“You know who says that?” Monty asks, voice muffled by the table. “People who have never been shit on by birds and are trying to make their shit-covered friends feel better.”

Clarke pats the shoulder that isn’t covered in bird poop.

“Look at it this way,” Raven says. “It’s already lunch and you’ve been shit on by a bird. You’re bad day can’t get much worse. And it’s Friday. You can only go up from here.”

Monty groans. “Don’t say that! Now something even worse is going to happen.”

And, because the universe is against him and Raven jinxed his karma, Monty is right.

He’s rushing back to his dorm after his last class to change into something nicer so he can meet Clarke at the mixer the GSA is throwing when his bag catches on something and rips, spilling his things everywhere.

Monty takes a second to pause, close his eyes, and take a deep breathe before bending down to collect his stuff.

Which is when two things happen. He notices that at least fifteen condoms have spilled out of his bag and there’s a pair of feet standing in front of him.

The feet are connected to Bellamy’s hot friend, Miller, who Monty’s been crushing on for the last two months.

When Monty looks up, Miller’s got one eyebrow raised, a small smirk on his face and he lets his eyes drop to the mess on the floor before meeting Monty’s eyes again. “Got some exciting weekend plans?” he asks.

Monty can feel his face heating up and is sure he’s as red as a tomato when he tries to explain. He opens his mouth and closes it again, starting and stopping a few times before he can get a sentence out. “I- those aren’t- me and Clarke-. The health center gives out free condoms and we both took a bunch yesterday because it’s always better to be prepared and we’re also both kind of assholes who take free things just because they’re free. It was like when you go to Costco and they have free samples and you keep going back even though you’re know it’s a dick move but instead of samples it was condoms and oh my god please say something so I stop talking.”

Miller is grinning at him now, an expression Monty’s only seen on his face a handful of times before, and he would be proud of himself for putting it there if the circumstances were different. Instead, he just hangs his head in shame and starts gathering up the condoms.

He hears a laugh and then Miller’s kneeling down next to him, handing him a notebook and a few of the pens that also fell out of his bag. “Hey, I’m not judging,” he says. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

His pause seems deliberate and when Monty meets his eyes he’s smirking again. “Besides, you’re cute when you blush.”

Monty’s pretty sure his mouth drops open. “What?”

Miller’s still busy collecting Monty’s things and when he looks back over Monty would say he looked nervous, except that he doesn’t think Miller gets nervous. His two main emotions seem to be disdainful and reluctantly amused, so Monty’s in completely new territory.

“You’re cute when you blush,” Miller repeats. “Actually, you’re cute all the time.”

“You think I’m cute?” Monty asks. He’s completely abandoned his things now and is turned to look fully at Miller, who shrugs like this isn’t groundbreaking news.

“Yeah,” he says. “I figured you knew that.”

“Um, no,” Monty says. “This is brand new information. I’ve been flailing all over the place trying to flirt with you for the last two months and the most I’ve gotten is an amused smirk, so I was definitely not aware that you thought I was cute.”

Miller huffs and Monty thinks he sees a faint blush on his cheeks when he says, “That’s just my face. It’s not my fault I’m quiet and have a naturally surly expression.”

Monty’s quiet for a minute and then he thinks _fuck it_ and says, “So, if you think I’m cute, I assume you’re down to got to the GSA mixer with me?”

Miller snorts. “Yeah, no, I’m not doing that.” Monty’s heart drops but Miller continues on quickly, “If we’re gonna go on a date, we’re not going to the GSA mixer.”

“We’re going on a date?” Monty asks.

“I thought that’s what you were asking,” Miller says, his smirk back in place.

“I didn’t think it would work,” Monty mumbles. Then, “Okay. Real date. Meet me in the lounge in fifteen minutes. We’re going out for dinner.”

Miller’s smirk turns into a smile and he says, “Sounds good.” He hands Monty the rest of the condoms and heads off and Monty takes a deep breath once he’s gone.

When he gets back to his room, he changes and texts Clarke to tell her that he won’t be able to make it to the mixer because he’s going on a date.

She texts back “ _I told you that bird shitting on you would be good luck!!!_ ”

Monty smiles at the text and grabs one of the condoms out of his now-useless bag because Miller’s right – it’s better to be safe than sorry.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I think someone had a little accident with the finger paint." for Bellarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally had no ideas for this and then it ended up being super long for a drabble, so idk. I like it though.

Bellamy hadn’t realized that he’d double-booked himself when Octavia asked him to babysit his five-year-old nephew. He forgot that the monthly History Department meeting had been rescheduled for Thursday instead of its regular Tuesday and when he realized it, it was too late to cancel on either obligation.

Lucky for him, Clarke was available to pick up Alex and watch him at Bellamy’s until his meeting was over.

He’s still trying to figure out a way to ask Clarke to stay for dinner when he unlocks the door. It’s not anything new - she hangs out all the time and they get take out and watch Netflix – but it feels domestic in a way he tries to avoid being with her, asking her to stay while he’s watching Alex and cooking dinner for them. He’s so caught up in his thoughts when opens the door that it takes him a minute to notice that his coffee table’s been pushed against the wall to make room for a giant roll of paper.

Alex is standing in the middle of it, wearing a t-shirt that reaches his knees and bears the name of the middle school Clarke teaches at. He’s got paint up to his elbows, green on one arm and mix of red, blue, and purple on the other. When he hears Bellamy come in, he looks up, and Bellamy’s sees that he’s also got paint streaked across his face.

“Don’t worry, it’s washable,” Clarke says, drawing his attention to her. She’s got smock on and her face and smock are also streaked with paint.

“Oh, good,” he says, “Because I think someone had a little accident with the finger paint.” He tries to keep his face neutral, but his tone betrays him and Clarke shoots him a dirty look.

“Not another word,” she says, holding up her orange pointer finger.

Bellamy breaks and starts laughing while Clarke continues to glower at him. “This is last time I do you a favor,” she grumbles.

Alex grins at Bellamy and spreads his arms out wide. “Look what we made, Uncle Bell!”

Bellamy picks his way through the art supplies strewn across his living room and when he reaches the picture, he smiles at his nephew. “I love it!”

Alex jumps a bit and reaches for Bellamy’s hand before a small cough from Clarke draws him back. “We don’t wanna get Uncle Bellamy’s work clothes all covered in paint,” she says.

Alex nods and checks to make sure Bellamy is paying attention before pointing out all of the paintings that he did, the ones that Clarke helped him with, and explaining how they mixed the different paints together.

“And, when it’s all dry, I’m gonna take it home and hang it in my room,” he finishes, looking up to Bellamy.

“That’s a great idea,” Bellamy says, smiling at him. “Your mom and dad are gonna love it.”

“And I made you that!” Alex says, pointing at the coffee table where a smaller paper is lying. “I wanted to make you a big one, too, but Clarke said this way you could put in on your fridge.”

“That was smart of Clarke,” Bellamy says. “If you’re all done, why don’t you go into the bathroom so we can get you cleaned up. I’ll be there in one minute.”

“Okay! And then can I show you the new action figure Raven made me?”

“Of course,” Bellamy says. He watches Alex all the way to the bathroom, making sure that he’s not touching anything on his way, and then turns to Clarke. “I think someone had a little accident with the finger paint,” he says again, grinning.

“Shut up,” Clarke says without heat. “This is the only way I know how to interact with children.”

“You’ve babysat for Alex before.”

“Yeah and we did a shitload of arts and crafts.”

Bellamy snorts. “Well, as a thank you for your hardship, do you wanna stay for dinner? It’s not anything fancy, but I promised Alex a special dessert.”

“I’ll stay, but only if I get a special dessert,” she says. Bellamy sees her eyes drop for a second, but then she’s holding eye contact with him again and he feels himself flushing. “Do you mind if I shower after you get Alex cleaned up? I feel like I’m covered in paint.”

“That’s because you are,” Bellamy says. His voice is a little off, but she doesn’t seem to notice. He runs a hand over his face on the way to the bathroom and takes a deep breath. That’s not new either - they’ve always toed the line between friendly flirting and flirting that could lead to something more.

It takes him ten minutes to scrub all the paint off of Alex, who spends the entire time telling Bellamy how much fun Clarke is and how he wants her to babysit him all the time because he always gets to use paint when she babysits him.

“Clarke’s pretty good with the paints,” Bellamy says, ushering Alex out of the bathroom. He runs to his bag to get his action figure and Bellamy makes a stop in his room to grab a t-shirt and pair of sweats.

“Here,” he says, handing them to Clarke and trying not to think about how she’s going to be naked him his shower in a few minutes. “In case you want to wear something that’s not covered in paint.”

She rolls her eyes, “You know, he wanted to paint you a mural on your kitchen wall, but I told him we couldn’t. Next time maybe I’ll just let him run wild with the paints.”

She heads off to the bathroom and after looking at Alex’s new action figure and making a mental not to tell Octavia to maybe not let Raven make any more toys for Alex, Bellamy goes into the kitchen to make dinner.

Alex sits at the table and plays with his action figure while telling Bellamy about kindergarten and his best friend and his puppy. Bellamy’s just finishing setting out the dishes when Clarke walks in, hair still damp and her frame swamped in his clothes.

“It smells great,” she says, sitting at the table next to Alex and oohing and ahhing over his action figure.

They eat dinner, play for a bit, Alex gets two scoops of cookie dough ice cream as his special dessert, and then he changes into pajamas and they settle on the couch to watch a Disney movie. Alex curls into Bellamy’s side and makes it just past halfway through movie before dozing off.

Clarke’s sitting on the other side of him, not quite close enough that they’re touching, but close enough that he’s aware of every time she shifts or breathes, and he wishes she would just curl into him how she usually does because that would at least be easier.

Octavia stops by at 9:00 to pick up Alex. Bellamy helps her carry him out to the car and when he returns, Clarke’s in the same spot, scrolling through his Netflix.

“Thanks for picking him up,” Bellamy says, settling down next to her

“No problem,” she says, “But, you know, I never got my special dessert.”

“Clarke,” he says, his voice rough as he turns to look at her.

She looks nervous, fidgeting with her hands before she meets his gaze. “Raven said this would totally do it,” she says and Bellamy’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “She said that if you were even a little bit into me, hanging out with Alex would be you’re tipping point.”

Bellamy looks at her for a minute before saying, “Yeah, well Raven was right,” and leaning in to kiss her.

It’s slow at first – just a light press of lips and hands ghosting over each other. Then Bellamy pulls Clarke into his lap and it’s tongues and hot, heavy hands, Clarke moving so that she’s straddling him and can grind against him.

They continue like that for a few minutes before Bellamy finally pulls back. “You tried to use my nephew to seduce me?”

Clarke huffs, still close enough that Bellamy feels her breath across his lips. “It was the tipping point. I thought you were interested and Raven said Miller told her you daydream about domestic shit like making dinner and curling up on the couch together. I thought that if you saw Alex and me being cute together you’d be overcome with your lust.”

“Great plan,” he says, laughing.

“It was,” Clarke protests. “It obviously worked.” She grinds down on him to make her point and he groans.

“It was mostly thinking about you being naked in my shower,” he says, but he can tell Clarke knows he’s lying by the way look she gives him. “Yeah, whatever, I’m a romantic that’s into domestic shit, you’re seduction plan worked.” It takes them a few seconds to get back to kissing, with both of them smiling so big.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "a mutual friend invited us to their laser tag party and we’re the last two alive on opposite teams and goddammit if I’m going down you’re going down with me" for Minty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting drabbles here every day of hiatus, aside from Wednesdays when I post oneshots. Yesterday's is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10604667), if you want to read it and I'm always accepting prompts here or on [tumblr](http://fitnessandfandom.tumblr.com/ask). :)

Monty can admit that he’s got a competitive streak. He likes gaming and he likes winning. It’s no surprise that he takes laser tag seriously.

He’s not surprised that his friends do, too. Clarke and Bellamy have been flirting via competition-based mediums for months. Octavia has a lot of aggression that she channels into competitive activities. Raven is a strategic genius and it shows in how she never loses anything. And Nate’s just the kind of asshole that likes winning to spite other people.

Lincoln might have been right when he suggested that it was maybe not the best idea for them to play laser tag.

Monty’s hiding behind a pillar with Clarke when they see Bellamy. She tells Monty to cover her and then she’s off, running toward him.

Suddenly, she stops shooting and lowers her gun. Bellamy does the same and Monty leans a little farther around the pillar, trying to eavesdrop and gasping when Clarke reaches up to pull Bellamy in for a kiss.

They shoot each other at the same time and then pull away. Monty can’t quite hear what they’re saying but he does hear their laughter and Clarke yelling, “Well, Monty’s still alive so your team loses!”

Bellamy says something and she frowns, and it’s at that moment that Monty notices movement behind them and sees Nate’s head pop up from behind a low ledge.

Their eyes lock for a second before Nate’s leaping over the edge. Monty lets out a battle-cry, charging. They’re both shooting recklessly, somehow managing to not hit the other when Monty plows into Nate’s chest, shoulder down.

Nate grabs Monty around the waist as he goes down, shouting, “If you’re taking me down, I’m taking you with me!”

Monty loses his gun in the fall and he sees that Nate has the same issue. They scramble around on the floor for a few seconds before Nate gives up and goes after Monty instead. In the end, he gets Monty pinned, arms above his head, Nate kneeling over him with his legs straddling Monty’s hips. Monty puts up a valiant effort to unseat him, but honestly, Nate’s unfairly strong for someone who is just as into video games and the indoors as Monty is. Nate has muscles. Of course he would be able to pin Monty.

He reaches over for his gun and Monty tries to plead with him. “Come on, Nate, please don’t shoot me.”

“This is how it ends, Monty,” Nate says, taking his time to aim his gun at Monty’s chest. “One of us has to die.”

“You don’t have to shoot me,” Monty says. “We could agree to walk out of here together, side by side.”

Nate tilts his head to the side, like he’s considering and Monty sees his opening.

“We could walk out of here together,” he repeats, continuing, “and then when we’re done, we could go back to your place…” he trails off, a suggestive smile on his face as he bucks his hips again, no longer trying to find leverage to get Nate off of him.

“Monty,” Nate groans, his grip slackening just slightly on his gun.

It’s enough for Monty to yank the gun out of Nate’s hands, turning it and aiming for his chest, shooting quickly.

Nate gapes at him for a moment before clutching his chest and falling to his side, calling out, “Traitor!” before gasping for breath.

Monty sits up and rolls his eyes. “You’re not really dead, Nate.”

He remains on the floor for a few minutes, eyes closed, tongue lolling to the side of his open mouth.

When Bellamy and Clarke come over, Bellamy nudges him with the toe of his shoe. Nate still doesn’t move and Bellamy rolls his eyes. “He’s so fucking dramatic.”

Nate sits up and glares. “I’m dramatic?” he asks, “I’m sorry, were you not just here for your guys’ dramatic as fuck love confession?”

Even in the dim light of the laser tag facility, Monty can see Clarke blushing. Bellamy just huffs and says, “Whatever. All you had to do was shoot Monty and we would have won.”

“All you had to do was wait another five minutes to settle the sexual tension we’ve all be tolerating for the last six months and we would have won,” Nate shoots back.

Bellamy opens his mouth to respond, but Clarke tugs on his hand and whispers something. He takes a second to shoot one more dirty look at Miller before following her.

Monty stands and leans down to offer Nate a hand. He accepts and when Monty pulls him up he wraps his other arm around Monty’s waist pulling him in close.

“That was cruel,” he says, “using sex to get me not to shoot you.”

“All’s fair in love and war, babe,” Monty says, leaning for a quick kiss. “Besides, I’ll give you a blowjob when we get back to your place to make it up to you.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “you’re really bad at beer pong but you do this really cute dance before you throw the ball so I’m letting you stay on my team” for Bellarke.

Clarke doesn’t understand how Bellamy can be so bad at beer pong. He’s got good hand-eye coordination. He tends to be much less drunk than everyone else that’s playing. He should be, if not good, then at least mediocre. But he’s not – he’s bad, bad in a way that Clarke has never seen someone be bad at beer pong. In two games, he’s only made two shots and it was the Freshman Cup. Both times.

His only redeemable beer pong quality is that he does an adorable little shimmy before every shot, so Clarke keeps him as her partner. It’s pathetic. She’s so into him that she’s losing at beer pong just because he’s cute.

Their third game is against Raven and Gina. Clarke sinks her first shot, Raven reciprocates, and then it’s Bellamy’s turn.

He grabs the ball, adjusts his glasses, does his little shimmy – then he hits the Freshman Cup.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Clarke asks, voice incredulous.

To the side of the table, Miller, Monty, and Octavia burst into laughter.

“I can’t believe the only shot you’ve made is the Freshman Cup,” Octavia says. “How are you this bad?”

Bellamy glares at her. “I didn’t spend a lot of time playing beer pong in my youth.”

“You’re in your late twenties,” Clarke says, pushing at his shoulder, “You’re still in your youth.”

“Hey,” Raven says from across the table, “Let’s keep it moving. Pants down, Blake.”

“Or you can kneel,” Gina adds, giving him a sympathetic look.

Bellamy just rolls his eyes and unbuttons his jeans.

“No, no. He’s gotten Freshman Cup three times,” Miller says. “We’ve gotta come up with a new rule. Clearly neither of those are any incentive to get a shot.”

“I’m trying!” Bellamy protests.

Clarke pats his arm. “That’s the sad part.”

“Shirt off, too,” Miller says. When Bellamy doesn’t immediately comply, Miller gestures at him, sloshing beer over the side of his cup. “Come on, off.”

Bellamy sighs but takes his shirt off. While he’s pulling it over his head, Clarke flips off Miller and he grins at her and wiggles his eyebrows.

Across the table, Raven’s face is unimpressed. “Now that we’ve settled Bellamy’s state of undress, let’s play.”

The game continues. With Bellamy nearly naked, Clarke can’t keep them alive in the game and Raven and Gina beat them quickly.

After Bellamy puts his shirt back on he turns to Clarke, “I think we deserve a real drink.”

She nods and they make their way into the kitchen. Bellamy mixes them rum and cokes and then says, “If you want a new beer pong partner, I understand.”

“You’re not that bad,” she says. Bellamy gives her a look. “Okay, you’re that bad.”

“Which is why I won’t be offended if you try to trade me.”

Clarke looks at her drink for minute before downing it in one long gulp. “Nah, no one else is as cute as you.”

Bellamy’s eyes lock on her and when she just shrugs he says, “Yeah? In general or just while I’m doing fucking awful at beer pong?”

“In general,” Clarke says. “But you do this little shimmy before you shoot that’s particularly cute.”

“Is it?”

“Mhmmm.”

Bellamy looks at her for a long moment. “So what you’re saying is you kept me on your team because I’m cute?”

Clarke nods.

“Right.” Bellamy puts down his drink and backs Clarke up against the counter, leaning down. He pauses just before his lips meet hers and she pushes up to kiss him.

They’re still making out when Monty walks in a few minutes later. “Oh, fuck!” he says, before backing out, a hand over his eyes. Clarke can hear him shout “You owe me twenty bucks!” once he leaves and she laughs leaning her head against Bellamy’s chest.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “I drive to school and you walk and I drive past you everyday and it’s below freezing and you’re still walking please just get in the damn car I’ll drive you” AU" for Bellarke. Prompt via [dailyau](http://dailyau.tumblr.com/).

Clarke’s offered Bellamy rides to school before. She’s known him for three years, been friends with Octavia for two, and she’s been driving past him for as long as she can remember. It’s part of her morning routine by now – snooze her alarm until she has just enough time to get dressed and grab some coffee and a granola bar, fight with her car door that only opens if you pull it at just the right angle, drive past Bellamy.

At first, she just noticed that she passed a boy with dark, messy hair every day and didn’t really think about it. After a few weeks she realized it was Bellamy Blake from her Geometry class. That was the first time she offered him a ride. He’d rebuffed her, she’d flipped him off, and they didn’t speak again until she became friends with Octavia the next year.

She’d offered him a ride again and he declined her offer, though this time he was a little less hostile. It’s been a pattern ever since. Every few months Clarke pulls over and asks Bellamy if he would rather she just drive him. He tells her he doesn’t need a ride from her and for the next couple of months she’ll honk and make a face at him every time she passes, until she starts feeling guilty and offers him a ride again.

Today, she doesn’t feel guilty. She’s just fed up with this whole stupid thing.

“Bellamy Blake, get your ass in this car.”

“I don’t need a ride,” he says, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck.

Clarke inches along the street, keeping pace with Bellamy’s long strides. She gestures for the car behind her to go around when it honks at her.

She huffs, her breath visible. “It’s below freezing. Just let me give you a ride.”

She’s leaning over into her passenger seat to yell at him through the open window, barely paying attention to the street in front of her.

“You sound kind of like a child predator,” Bellamy notes. “Try convincing me that you’ve got some candy or a lost puppy maybe that will get me in the car.”

“Bellamy,” she says, her tone warning.

“I know it’s hard for you to cope when people say no to you, Princess, but I don’t need a-“

“Stop being stubborn and just get in the damn car!” Clarke shouts. She throws her car into park and storms out, slamming the door behind her. She has to high-step through the snow that’s covering the ground to get to Bellamy, and when she does she stops in front of him, blocking his path and planting her hands on her hips.

“There was a blizzard two days ago. Half of the sidewalks on the way to school aren’t shoveled and it’s below freezing. Just get in the car and let me give you a ride.” Her tone softens near the end and Bellamy sighs.

“Seriously, Clarke,” he says, “I’m fine, I don’t need your pity ride.”

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke asks, stepping closer to him and shoving his shoulder. “You’re so fucking stupid! I’m not giving you a ride because I feel bad for you, I’m giving you a ride because you’re my friend and it’s freezing and I don’t want my mother to have to amputate your toes.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Clarke repeats, eyebrows raised.

“We’re friends?” Bellamy asks. Clarke thinks he might be blushing, but his cheeks could also be flushed from the single digit wind-chill.

“Yes!” Clarke says. She almost shoves him again, but then she stops. “I mean, I thought we were?”

When Bellamy doesn’t say anything she continues. “I mean, we bicker and shit, but I’d still be there if you needed me and I figured you’d be there if I needed you. Hence the ride,” she adds, gesturing to her still-running car.

Bellamy still sounds unsure when he says, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little more confident, “We’re friends.”

Clarke sighs a little, her shoulders sagging. “So you’ll let me give you a ride?”

“Yeah, fine,” Bellamy says. “But only because we’re friends.”

“I fucking hate you,” Clarke says, leading him to her car. “You’re gonna be such an asshole now.”

“I’m always an asshole.”

“More than usual, then,” Clarke says. She tugs at her door a few times and when she gets into her car, Bellamy’s already in the passenger seat. He’s hunched over toward the dash, his nose nearly touching the closest vent.

Clarke turns the heat up even higher. “It’s got heated seats, too,” she says. “Just don’t leave it on longer than five minutes, it starts to burn. Like, literally. Jasper’s ass almost caught on fire.”

Bellamy snorts. “You sure it wasn’t the weed in his pocket?”

“Could’ve been,” Clarke says, shrugging.

They’re halfway to school when Bellamy says, quiet, “Thanks, Clarke.”

She glances over and he gives her a small smile, which she returns. “It’s really not a problem, Bellamy. I could drive you any time, if you’d stop being a stubborn asshat.”

“I if was gonna stop being a stubborn asshat I’d just ride the bus with O.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and it’s silent for a few minutes until Bellamy says, “Hey, Clarke. Can I have a ride home?”

“Maybe,” she says. “Say please.”

“Please.”

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (pssst leave me prompts I’ve got until Thursday planned, but after that I’ve got nothing.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "You want us both to get in shape and I hate working out/running but your ass looks really good in shorts oh the things I do for my friends and their nice asses" & "Carrying on from that, you’ve caught me checking you out in what I thought was a subtle way too many times and now you’re calling me out on it what do I do???" for Minty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter if you celebrate & happy Sunday if not. Have some Minty fluff. :)

Monty almost immediately regrets his decision to ask Nate to help him get into better shape. He hates the outdoors, he hates running, and he’s honestly not even that big on getting in shape. He was just hanging out with Bellamy, Clarke, and Octavia when Nate got back from a run one day and Nate looked so good in his running shorts that Monty needed to ensure that he’d see him in them again.

So he asked Nate if he’d be willing to help Monty get into shape. And because Nate’s favorite type of exercise is running outdoors, Monty’s also going to be running outdoors.

His lack of motivation and skill level at least give him an excuse to lag a few paces behind Nate and stare at his ass whenever he wants to give up and die, so that’s a nice little treat for the torture he’s putting himself through.

He’s lying on Clarke’s couch, legs elevated and iced, complaining about how running should only be done in the event of “for your life, from the zombies” when she says, “You could just stop.”

“Clarke,” he says, shifting to sit up a bit more and look at her on the other end of the couch, “his ass in those shorts though.”

“Monty,” she mimics, voice patient, as if she’s talking to one of the children she teaches, “You can’t make life decisions based on Miller’s ass.”

“But it looks so good,” he whines. Clarke pats his shin and then winces when he moans.

“Sorry,” she says, not sounding very sorry at all. “Like, I said, you could just stop running, and you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“I can’t. I’m in too deep, now. We’ve gone for three weeks and I haven’t complained about it at all to him. It’d be weird for me to stop now.”

Clarke makes a sympathetic noise. “I’m sure Miller would be fine with it if you wanted to stop running. You could always just tell him that you don’t like running but you wanna do some other kind of workout with him. Or,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows, “You could suggest some other type of activity.”

“Shut up,” Monty says, flushing and nudging her thigh with his foot. “Nate’s not into me.”

“You don’t know that,” Clarke says.

“His last boyfriend was Bryan,” Monty says. He sighs. “He’s the complete opposite of me. He was fit and active and I like to play video games and avoid the sun.”

“Yeah, but they broke up. So maybe that’s not what Miller wants.”

Monty shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ve accepted that I’ve got a giant, stupid, unrequited crush on him that makes me do stupid shit like run. I can pine from afar and stare at his ass while we run.”

Which is just what he does the next time he goes running with Nate.

They’re doing what Nate calls “an easy trail” and what Monty thinks of as “hell in a trail”. It takes them forty-five minutes to get through it and when they slow to a light jog to cool down, Nate tells Monty that he normally runs it in thirty minutes.

“Are you serious?” Monty says, falling a little behind. It’s been a long run, he deserves to get to check out Nate’s ass.

“Yeah, but when I was just starting to get into running it took me an hour, so you’re doing better than I did.”

Monty huffs out a laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

Nate turns to grin at him and Monty tries to act like he wasn’t just staring at his ass.

It doesn’t work, because Nate calls over his shoulder, “You can stare at my ass any time, Monty! Try to keep up!”

Monty actually stops jogging for a second, trips a little over his own feet, and then speeds up so that he’s next to Nate.

“I’m not staring at your ass!” he protests.

“You’ve been staring at my ass for the last month. You’re not subtle,” Nate says. He’s smirking now and Monty’s glad that he was already red from exertion because it hides his blush.

“It’s cool,” Nate continues. “I do a lot of squats, I’m glad someone’s appreciating it.”

“Um.” is Monty’s very articulate response.

Nate’s still smirking at him and Monty finally finds his words again, blurting out, “Now would probably be a good time to mention that I fucking hate running. I literally only wanted to go running so that I could stare at your ass because it looks great in these shorts.”

“Why do you think I keep wearing them?” Nate asks. He stops jogging and turns to Monty. “You seriously aren’t into running at all?”

Monty shrugs. “Not really. I’m not opposed to all exercise, but running is the worst, by far.”

“But you’ve been running with me for a month,” Nate says. He looks a little sad and Monty thinks that he might not have been right about his crush being unrequited.

“Because I wanted to spend time with you. And stare at your ass,” he adds. “But mostly to spend time with you.”

“We didn’t have to go running to spend time together.”

“Thank God,” Monty says. “Want to go get lunch?”

Miller grins at him as he says, “Yeah, sure. That cafe on Fifth is great. I’ll race you there.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Accidentally knocked on the wrong dorm room college au" for Bellarke.

Clarke knew college could be weird, but she doesn’t fully experience it until two week into her second semester, when she wakes up to a loud pounding on her door. The only reason she gets up to answer is because she doesn’t want to get in trouble with her RA for a noise complaint before eight AM and he assumes it’s her roommate’s shitty boyfriend, the one she told Clarke she got into a fight with last night before storming out of the dorm and never coming back.

She’s opening her mouth as she opens the door, already prepared to curse out the boyfriend, but instead she just ends up saying, “Who the fuck are you?”

The guy in her doorway looks just as confused as she feels and he hesitates for a second before saying, “Uh, I’m looking for Octavia? She just switched rooms.”

When Clarke continues to stare at him, he clarifies, “Octavia Blake? Dark hair, a little shorter and lighter than me but with a noticeable resemblance?”

Clarke still doesn’t know who he’s talking about and he woke her up before eight on a Saturday, so her tone’s a little less than charitable when she says, “That’s your description? Looks like you but shorter, lighter, and a girl?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and says, “I’ve never had a problem finding her with that description before.”

His tone mimics Clarke’s and she’s opening her mouth before she even knows what she’s going to say. She does know that she’s tired, grumpy, and still doesn’t know who this guy is, so she’s not gonna stand here and take his attitude.

The door behind him opens before she has a chance to say anything and the girl that just moved into the dorm across the hall says, “Bell!”

She sounds exasperated and she pulls her door shut behind her, crossing her arms. The guy in Clarke’s doorway turns to face her and says, “What the hell, O? Did you tell me the wrong room on purpose?”

The girl – Octavia, Clarke recognizes the name now that she’s fully awake and alert– rolls her eyes, “Yes, Bell, I purposely gave you the wrong room, knowing that you would show up and cause a scene. I totally wanted to inflict you on the poor girl across the hall.” Bell glances over his shoulder and Clarke waves at him.

He winces slightly, but continues on, “You called me three times last night, didn’t leave a message, and then didn’t answer when I tried to get in touch. I thought you might be dead.”

“So you came down here to bang on doors until you found me?”

“You told me third door on the right!”

“My door has my name on it! Does that door have my name-“

“Don’t get sassy with me, O-“

“Hey!” Clarke interrupts as their voices raise. “Can you guys not do this in the hallway?”

Bell turns to her and opens his mouth, but Octavia elbows him, stepping forward.

“Sorry, Clarke,” she says, smiling. “My asshole brother, Bellamy, is an overprotective douche.” She elbows him again and when he glares at her she says, “Apologize.”

He sighs. “Sorry for knocking on your door, which I thought was my sister’s because she gave me shitty directions.”

Clarke waves them off as they start arguing again and closes her door, going back to her bed.

***

Four days later, there’s another knock at Clarke’s door. She’s elbow-deep in anatomy notes, and has been for the last two hours, so she’s a little confused when she opens the door and she’s face-to-face with Bellamy.

“Octavia’s across the hall,” she says, short, as she goes to close the door.

He stops it with his foot and shifts his weight. She notices that he’s got a plate covered in foil in his hands and when she raises her eyebrows at him he gives her a small smile.

“Hey, Clarke, right?” She nods. “Sorry about the other day. I thought this was O’s room and I was worried about her being dead in a ditch somewhere. Uh, here’s some cookies.”

He shoves the plate into Clarke’s hands and she continues staring at him. “Thanks?”

He nods once and reaches forward to pull her door closed.

Clarke stops it this time, pulling it open and causing him to lose his balance for a second. “You made me cookies?” she asks. Her tone sounds off even to her own ears and Bellamy looks a little uncomfortable as he nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I felt bad about waking you up before eight on a Saturday. And then, y’know, arguing with my sister in your doorway.”

“So you made me cookies to apologize?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding again. “They’re chocolate chip. Hope you enjoy.”

With that, he turns on his heel and Clarke stares as he heads down the hallway. Once he’s gone she sets the cookies down on her bed and head across the hall, knocking on Octavia’s door.

“Is your brother always this weird?” she says when the door opens.

Octavia sighs. “What’d he do?”

“He made me cookies to apologize for banging on my door on Saturday.”

“Oh,” Octavia says. She cocks her head to the side, staring at Clarke for a few seconds, and then she grins. “You’re coming out with me on Friday. Bell’s got a house off campus with a few of his friends and they’ll let us hang out and get drunk with them.”

Octavia demands Clarke’s phone, and when Clarke hands it over she puts her number in it and sends herself a text. “Here,” she says, handing the phone back, “I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday.”

She closes the door and Clarke stands in the hallway for a few seconds before shaking her head and turning back to her own room.

College is weird.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I am a barista and you are a customer who comes in every day and orders the same thing and today my friend brought you with them, I didn’t even know we had mutual friends and WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT IS NOT ACTUALLY YOUR NAME HAVE I REALLY BEEN WRITING A NAME THAT IS NOT EVEN CLOSE TO YOURS ON YOUR CUPS FOR OVER HALF A YEAR WHY HAVE YOU NEVER CORRECTED ME AU" for Bellarke.

People have been messing up Bellamy’s name for as long as he can remember, so it’s not exactly a surprise when he’s getting coffee at a new place with Miller and Miller nudges him, saying, “Dude, I think that’s you.”

The name that was just called is “Delaney” which Bellamy doesn’t think sounds much like his name, but it’s still closer than when someone wrote “Bologna” on his cup. It’s typically a girl’s name, but the girl who took his order had a nametag that said “Clarke”, so she probably didn’t think anything of it.

The drink that says “Delaney” is his and that’s it. Just another time a person’s gotten his name wrong on the long list of times that it’s happened.

He doesn’t even think about it again until he goes back to the coffee shop a few days later and the girl at the counter, the same one who took his order last time, says, “Oh, Delaney, right?”

Bellamy could say something. He could correct her, but it takes him a minute to realize what she’s saying and why, and by the time it all clicks it’s too long of a pause, so he just smiles tightly and nods.  
She writes it on his cup and that’s it. Bellamy’s now known as “Delaney” at the coffee shop.

It wouldn’t even be a problem, but the coffee shop is on his way to work so he stops in a few times a week to grab a coffee and a muffin and Clarke learns his order and she’s _cute_ , so he starts stopping in on the weekends, too, and the next thing he knows he’s been going into the coffee shop for half a year and has a growing rapport with the cute cashier who still thinks his name is “Delaney”.  
Miller laughs at him every time he mentions it.

“Honestly, even if you think she’s cute and might be into you, how are you gonna ask her out? She’s been calling you the wrong name for a year,” Miller says at the bar one night. “There’s no way she’s not gonna think that’s weird.”

“Which is why I’m not gonna ask her out,” Bellamy says. “It’s fine – it’s a nice part of my morning. I get to flirt with a pretty girl and eventually I’ll end up being into someone else, who hasn’t been calling me the wrong name, and I’ll ask them out.”

The look Miller gives him is skeptical and Bellamy can’t blame him. “Yeah, because that definitely sounds like you,” he says.

Sometimes Bellamy thinks Miller might be able to predict the future and pretends to bring up what’s going to happen casually, just to fuck with Bellamy.

The next afternoon he goes to get coffee with Octavia. They go to his regular place, because Octavia’s never been there and he gets the bonus of seeing Clarke. Which doesn’t seem like so much of a bonus when they’re waiting in line and Octavia grabs his arm with one hand, gesturing to the counter with the other, and says, “Hey, this is Clarke’s shop! The girl at the counter is that girl I was telling you about – the one that I was training for a run.”

The person in front of them moves to go wait for their drink and Clarke grins and then tilts her head a little to the side. “Octavia? You guys know each other?”

Bellamy tries to elbow Octavia, but it’s too late. “Yeah, this is my brother, Bellamy! Bell, this is Clarke.”

Clarke flushes and Bellamy tries to explain, but he doesn’t even know where to start.

“Your name is Bellamy?” Clarke finally asks.

Octavia looks from Bellamy to Clarke and back again bursting into laughter. “Oh, my god,” she says, “Wait, Clarke, is the one who’s been calling you the wrong name?”

“For six months,” Clarke says. She’s still blushing, but now she’s crossing her arms and glaring at Bellamy. “You’ve been letting me call you the wrong name for _six months_.”

“I can explain,” Bellamy says weakly.

Next to him, Octavia is still laughing. He shoots her a look and she straightens, still grinning. “Good luck with that. I’m gonna go sit and text Miller. Order for me when you’re done.”

She leaves and then it’s just him and Clarke.

“So, _Bellamy_ ,” she says, “Why exactly have you been letting me call you the wrong name for _six fucking months_?”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate to use profanity at the counter.”

“It’s my shop. Explain.”

“It’s actually your fault,” Bellamy says. She looks ready to argue, so he continues quickly. “People get my name wrong all the time, so I didn’t really care the first time it happened. Then I came in again and you remembered my name and I was so thrown off by the cute cashier remembering my name that I didn’t correct you. After that it would’ve been weird, so I went with it.”

Clarke stares at him for a minute. “Are you seriously trying to get out of this by calling me cute?”

“It’s what happened!”

She opens her mouth, he assumes to yell at him, and then snaps it shut. “I was just going to call you the wrong name,” she says. “You know, because I’ve been calling you it for _six months_.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Bellamy says. “But I was serious. You threw me off when you remembered my name. And I didn’t think it would be a big deal. If I knew I was gonna end up having a thing for you or that I’d be in here all the time, I would have corrected you.”

Clarke huffs, but she’s got a small smile on her face and she’s blushing again. “You’ve got a thing for me? Seriously, what was your plan here? I feel like you didn’t think this through.”

“I didn’t. My plan was to ignore my thing for you until it went away. I figured I’d eventually stop coming in and you’d never have to know.”

“You’re an idiot,” Clarke says. It’s fond, so Bellamy’s not too worried that she’s still mad at him. “You could have just corrected me and we wouldn’t have ever had this problem.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. She’s still blushing, so he grins at her. “And I probably would asked you out by now.”

“I honestly can’t believe you,” she says, shaking her head. “Go sit with Octavia. I’m on break in five. I’ll bring your drinks over and we can talk about you asking me out.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “Or one where Clarke is the veterinarian and Bellamy is the one who found an abandoned puppy and after their initial visit keeps making up excuses to bring the puppy in to see her.” for Bellarke.

The scruffy-looking puppy is scared, whimpering and shivering underneath the bench, obviously too small and too alone to care for itself.

Bellamy’s on the ground, hand held out, voice low and coaxing, before he even consciously decides that he needs to help it.

It takes some time – the puppy sniffs his hand and backs away five times before finally scooting far enough forward that Bellamy can reach it. Once he can, he lifts it up, and it must decide that it trusts him because it snuggles itself into the crook of his arm and relaxes.

He sits on the bench and settles the puppy into his lap, getting out his phone and dialing.

Octavia picks up on the second ring. “What’s up, big brother?”

“I need the info for your vet,” Bellamy says, scratching the puppy behind its ears.

“Why?” she asks. He hears movement and then papers jostling on the other end of the line.

“I might have found an abandoned puppy. It – wait let me check – he didn’t have a collar and was alone under a bench.”

“So you’ve decided to adopt him,” Octavia says. “Makes sense.”

“I didn’t decide to adopt him!” Bellamy protests. The puppy looks up at him when he raises his voice and he knows he’s absolutely lying.

“Maybe not yet,” Octavia says. She gives him the address of Dr. Clarke Griffin and tells him to say that Octavia sent him.

It’s only three and Octavia told him that they’re open until five on Saturdays, so Bellamy scoops up the puppy and decides to head straight there.

Twenty minutes later, Bellamy’s in front of the check-in desk at the vet’s office, a girl about Octavia’s age looking up at him.

“Uh, hi,” he says. “I don’t have an appointment, but I found this abandoned puppy and thought he probably needed to be seen by a vet. My sister told me to come here.”

The girl checks the computer and says, “Dr. Griffin is with a patient right now, but doesn’t have any more appointments for the rest day. She should be finishing up in about ten minutes, so you can take a seat and then we can get this little guy checked out.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy says.

Ten minutes later a Doberman comes out, followed by a blonde woman in a white coat and an older man.

“Harper,” she calls, “Set Daisy up for a follow-up in two weeks to check that the infection’s gone away.”

“Sure thing,” the girl at the counter says.

The vet turns her attention to Bellamy.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Clarke Griffin. Who’s this?” she asks as she reaches out her hand for the puppy to sniff.

“I’m not sure, actually,” Bellamy says. “I found him underneath a bench in the park and my sister, Octavia Blake, told me to come here. I’m Bellamy.”

“Oh!” Dr. Griffin says. “You’re Octavia’s brother? We both just started taking a kickboxing class together. She talks about you all the time. Follow me.”

He follows her into the examining room, giving her what little information he has on the puppy.

“Yeah, he’s not a puppy,” Dr. Griffin says. “He’s just tiny. He’s probably some type of Maltese mix, I’d say around two years old, but we can get a better guess after running some tests on him.”

She has Bellamy set the dog on a table and starts examining him, still talking to Bellamy. “He’s definitely malnourished, never neutered, and hasn’t been groomed. He’s probably a stray. The mom would’ve taken care of the puppies for as long as she could, but once they were old enough they would’ve gone off on their own.”

Once she’s examined him, she turns to Bellamy. “He looks perfectly healthy, if underweight, but I’d like to keep him overnight just in case. And then we’ll have to hand him over to the shelter, but I can make a recommendation if you’re looking to adopt him.”

“I’m keeping Cerberus,” Bellamy says, prompt.

“Cerberus?” Dr. Griffin says, raising an eyebrow. “Seems like a fitting name for this little guy. I’ll recommend you, then.”

She walks him out to the counter and tells Harper not to charge for the visit.

“You don’t have to do that,” Bellamy protests.

“Just use me as your regular vet when you adopt Cerberus and we’ll call it even,” she says.

He rolls his eyes, but says. “Obviously. Thanks, Dr. Griffin.”

She smiles at him. “You can call me Clarke. And it’s no problem. It’s my job to take care of pets.”

It’s not that Bellamy tries to find excuses to take Cerberus to see Clarke after that. He’s just new to owning a dog and Cerberus has a lot of things that he legitimately needs to have taken care of. He got his necessary vaccines before leaving the shelter, but there’s a few optional ones that Bellamy wants him to get. Then Bellamy has a check-up scheduled for him to makes sure that he’s fully healthy after having been on the streets for so long. Then he needs to be neutered. Then he needs to go back to his follow-up after being neutered.

It has nothing to do with Clarke being cute.

Octavia rolls her eyes when he tells her this.

“I’m friends with Clarke,” she says. “I could just invite her to hang out with us if you’re this into her.”

“I’m not into her,” Bellamy mutters. Then, when Octavia just stares at him, “Fine. I am. Why haven’t you invited her to hang out with us before?”

“Because I’ve been having too much fun watching you try to come up with excuses to take Cerberus in to see her,” Octavia says, grinning at him.

She follows through and invites Clarke to their next game night at Bellamy’s house.

Clarke’s the last one to show up and she’s got a six-pack of craft beer with her when Bellamy opens the door.

“Gift for the host,” she says, handing it to him and then bending down to pick up Cerberus, who’s running around their feet. “Hi, sweetheart. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Bellamy says.

She grins at him. “I haven’t seen Cerberus in a month. You were bringing him in like, every two weeks. I miss my little buddy.”

Bellamy makes a face at her. “I’ve never owned a dog before. There was a lot of medical shit to get done.”

“Mhmmm,” is Clarke’s response. She’s got Cerberus nestled in one arm and is using the other to rub his belly.

Game night only has one minor fight when Monty and Jasper get into an argument about different Monopoly boards and Clarke fits into the group perfectly.

She hangs back as everyone leaves, helping Bellamy clean up.

He’s working up the nerve to ask her if she wants to stay and watch something on Netflix when she leans against his kitchen counter, arms crossed, and says, “Octavia told me she invited me, and this is a direct quote, ‘ _because my brother’s a dumbass who keeps making excuses to bring his dog in because he’s too inept to actually ask you out_ ’. Is that true?”

She’s grinning as she says it, which makes Bellamy think he hasn’t been being nearly as subtle as he thought he was.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” he says, mirroring her stance.

“Cool,” Clarke says. She strides across the kitchen and puts her arms around his neck, leaning up so that there’s mouths are centimeters apart. “Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I first saw you.”

Bellamy leans down the rest of the way and does just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more week until new episodes, yay!! I posted a [Minty oneshot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10677840) yesterday, if anyone wants to check it out. :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “i don’t like you, you don’t like me, but we’re partners in this so let’s give it our all bc i want a fckn trophy’ AU" for Bellarke.

Bellamy’s not sure how he got paired with Clarke for the Beer Pong Championship, but he thinks Octavia probably rigged it.

When Clarke calls him immediately after Octavia texts out the teams, he says as much to her.

“It’s because we’re the best and she was hoping we would kill each other before the tournament so that nobody would have to play against either of us,” Clarke says. “Get out the two best players at the same time.”

“You told me last week that I was, and I quote, _so bad that it’s a crime against beer pong_.” Bellamy says. He’s digging through his closet because when he answered the phone Clarke ordered him to see if he had a coral shirt. He didn’t even have a chance to say hello. Or to complain about being partnered with her.

“Whatever. That was last week. Now we’re partners. And I don’t lose, so we’re the two best players and we’re going to kick everyone else’s asses.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Bellamy says, still pushing aside shirts. Clarke snorts and he rolls his eyes, even though she can’t see it. “I’m fucking great a beer pong. I just think that it’s suspicious.”

“It’s Octavia,” Clarke says. “She’s you’re little sister. You think everything she does is suspicious. Did you find any coral shirts?”

“No, but I’ve got that hot pink one that Octavia gave me for my birthday two years ago. Will that work?”

Clarke makes a noise and then Bellamy hears some fabric rustling on her end. “Hm. Yeah, I can make that work. Can you drop it off sometime tomorrow?”

Bellamy frowns at the shirt as he pulls it out of his closet. “What exactly are you going to do to it?”

“What does it matter? You don’t wear it.” When he doesn’t say anything Clarke huffs. “I haven’t figured out our logo yet, but I’m going to make it into a team shirt.”

“Logo?” Bellamy repeats. “Are you aware that you’re fucking ridiculous?”

“Are you aware that you’re an asshat?”

“You tell me all the time, so yeah, I am aware,” Bellamy says. “Seriously. Team shirts?”

“I’m not any happier than you are that we’re partners,” Clarke says, “But if we’re gonna be a team, we’re going all out. I want that fucking trophy.”

“So do I. I just don’t know that team shirts is gonna help us win it.”

“I’ll worry about that,” Clarke says. “You worry about not being the worst beer pong player of all time.”

She hangs up before he can respond and Bellamy flops backward onto his bed, letting out a long sigh.

***

After he drops off the pink shirt, Bellamy doesn’t see Clarke until Saturday. He’s already at Miller and Monty’s new house, beer in hand, when Clarke arrives.

“You know,” Miller says, inclining his own beer toward Clarke, “We’ve got a bet going on what’s gonna happen with you two during the tournament.”

Bellamy sighs. “You are the worst friends in the entire world.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Miller waves a hand at Bellamy like he’s trying to swat at a particularly annoying fly. “My money’s on killing each other, but not until the second round, so try to keep it together for the first game. For me.” He bats his eyelashes at Bellamy and Bellamy shoves his shoulder.

“I’ll try,” he says before making his way toward Clarke.

She looks happier to see him than she ever has before.

“There you are!” She grabs his arms and drags him into the kitchen. “Here,” she says as she pulls a hot pink something out of her bag.

“Jesus Christ.”

“It’s great, right?”

Bellamy holds up what used to be his shirt. It’s been cropped, the sleeves are cuffed, and the chest bears the words “Designated Drinkers”. When he turns it around, there’s a drawing of him and Clarke holding what looks like the Beer Pong Championship trophy, and the caption underneath says “We Always Get It In”.

She pulls off her hoodie to reveal a matching shirt.

“Jesus Christ,” he repeats.

“Come on,” Clarke says, gesturing to him. “Put it on. They’re gonna be good luck.”

He sighs, but does as she asks.

The shirt hits him just above his belly-button and he would be embarrassed about it, but he catches Clarke staring at his chest while he pulls off the shirt he’s wearing to put the pink one on.

She’s a little red when he’s done, her eyes darting down and then back to his face, but she just says “Perfect.”

They’re using the dining room table for their beer pong table and Octavia’s taped up a large piece of paper on the wall with the tournament brackets. When Clarke and Bellamy walk back in, the room goes silent for a second.

Then Miller bursts into laughter, having to hold on to Monty’s shoulder to keep himself upright.

“What the actual fuck?” Raven asks.

“We’re taking this seriously,” Clarke says. “Team Designated Drinkers is here to win.”

“I think you’ve made a very, very big mistake,” Jasper stage-whispers to Octavia. She just continues to gape at Clarke and Bellamy.

Lincoln’s the first on to recover and as he goes back to setting up the table, Raven comes to stand beside them.

“You guys might be putting up a united front in these shirts, but it’s only gonna take a few shots before you’re arguing and messing up your own game.”

“You can’t psyche us out, Raven,” Clarke says, turning around and pointing to the back of her shirt. “We always get it in.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes but can’t seem to get the smile off of his face. “We’re gonna be a fucking great team, Reyes. You guys haven’t seen anything yet.”

And Bellamy’s right. He and Clarke work surprisingly well together. They dominate both Jasper and Monty and Lincoln and Miller.

When it’s time for the final game against Raven and Octavia, Bellamy grins at them from across the table.

“I think your plan backfired, O,” he says, slinging an arm around Clarke. “We’re killing it.”

“Don’t get cocky yet, big brother. There’s still one game left.”

The game is close, but in the end, Clarke and Bellamy have only one cup left to get while Octavia and Raven have two.

“Come on, Bellamy,” Clarke mutters. He chances a quick glance at her. She’s got her hands clasped together in front of herself and she’s staring at the table with an intensity that’s a little ridiculous for a beer pong tournament, but Bellamy finds it encouraging.

He takes a deep breath, aims, and then lets the ball go.

Octavia swears when he sinks it and, next to him, Clarke lets out a loud whoop.

He turns to her, sweeping her up into his arms and spinning her around. She wraps her arms around his neck, laughing. “I fucking told you the shirts would be good luck!”

He laughs, too. When he sets her back down they’re closer than he thinks they’ve probably ever been and they take a moment just to stare at each other.

Then Clarke’s lips are on his and it takes him a second to respond, but when he does, he tightens one of his arms around her waist and lets the other drift up her back to play with the ends of her hair.  
They break apart when Monty shouts, “Hell yes! I told you they were gonna end up making out today. Pay up!”

Bellamy takes a deep breath before opening his eyes. Clarke’s flushed but smiling and he grins at her as he rests his forehead against hers. “Like I said, we’re a fucking great team.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "We’re studying in the library and there are two people very obviously fucking in the stacks and we keep sharing embarrassed glances" for Minty.

Monty has experienced a lot of embarrassment in his life. He’s always been a nerd and embarrassment just comes with the territory. He was made fun of for his love of video games, he didn’t really cultivate his “nerd chic” look until his last year of high school, and he hung out with Jasper, who wore those stupid goggles for two years.

So, yeah, Monty’s used to embarrassment. But he doesn’t think he’s ever felt as acutely uncomfortable and awkward as he does right now.

When the couple first stumbled into the corner of the library where Monty was studying with Nate, he didn’t think anything of it. They giggled a little and made their way down an aisle and Monty shared a look with Nate that said “ _ah to be young and in love and not suffering through a twelve-page paper_ ”.

Well, that’s what Monty was saying with his look. Nate’s a lot more reserved, so his was probably more of a “ _can they fuck off?_ ”

It was quiet for a few minutes and then a loud burst of laughter came out of the aisle that the couple had gone down, followed by a few muffled gasps.

Monty looked up, caught Nate’s eye, and made another face.

He went back to his work for a few minutes and tried to ignore the noises coming from the couple, which were becoming louder and more breathy. After reading the same sentence three times, he looked up again to find Nate already looking at him.

Monty rolled his eyes, Nate sighed and sunk down a little in his chair, and they went back to studying.

Now, the couple is clearly fucking, all loud moans and gasps and dirty talk, and Monty doesn’t know what to do. Should he suggest that he and Nate get up and leave? Would that be weird? Isn’t it weirder that this couple has chosen to loudly fuck in the library when they know people are studying less than twenty feet away?

“Are they so into it that they don’t realize they’re being this loud or are they just assholes?”

It takes Monty a minute to process what Nate’s asking because an “ _oh God_ ” drowns out a large portion of his question.

“I don’t know,” Monty says. “Maybe they thought we had headphones in?”

Another moan.

“Seriously?” Nate asks, shaking his head. He stands, his chair scraping against the floor. “I can’t study if I have to listen to this. Wanna come back to my place? Bellamy’s out with Clarke.”

Monty opens his mouth to answer, but another loud moan drowns him out. He gathers up his things, moving quicker as the couple grow louder than he thought possible.

“Oh my god,” he says once he and Nate both have all of their things. “I think she’s coming.”

“They don’t deserve to come,” Nate says, voice dark. “Orgasms are for considerate citizens, not people who fuck in the library.”

He puts an arm on Monty’s shoulder to stop him when they reach the front desk of the library and then smiles at the woman behind it.

“There’s a couple having sex upstairs, right by the Classics section. Super loud, super rude. I just thought we should let you know.” He turns and heads to the door, Monty following behind him and shooting the librarian a sheepish look.

“I can’t believe you just told the librarian on them,” Monty says once they’re outside.

“They were fucking in the library. They deserve what they get.”

The walk to Nate’s apartment is only a few blocks and they make it in companionable silence.

Once they’re inside, Nate throws his bag down by the coffee table and asks, “You want something to drink? Water? Pop? We’ve got some of those weird beers Octavia gave Bellamy for his birthday.”

Monty laughs and sits down, pulling some books out of his bag and setting them on the coffee table. “Water’s good.”

Nate nods and comes out of the kitchen a few minutes later with two glasses of water and a bag of Sour Patch in his hands. “This is my studying fuel,” he explains.

Monty grins and holds up his hands. “I’m not judging as long as you share.”

They get settled in and start studying, only the sounds of pens on paper and the rustling of the Sour Patch bag breaking the silence.

It lasts five minutes before Monty says, “Okay, now I can’t focus with it this quiet. It’s like listening to people fucking in the library has thrown off my brain.”

He’s smiling as he says it and he can feel a light blush rising on his cheeks because he’s bringing up the people fucking in the library again _to Nate_. Nate just stares at him for a second, a contemplative look on his face before he says, “Well, we can make it less quiet.”

Then he leans over to kiss Monty. His lips taste like sour sugar and Monty grins a little against them because he never thought he’d get to make out with Nate, but he really never thought Nate would taste like Sour Patch while they were making out.

Nate pulls back after a few seconds, eyes scanning Monty’s face again. He relaxes at Monty’s smile and leans in for another quick peck.

“We can’t actually study if we’re making out,” Monty says because of course that’s what would come out of his mouth immediately after kissing the guy he’s had a crush on for the last three months.

But Nate just laughs. “Are you saying you’d rather be studying?”

“Fuck no,” Monty says, reaching one hand behind Nate to cup the back of his head. “I’d definitely rather be doing this.”

“Good,” Nate says, leaning back in. “Me, too.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “did you actually just blue shell me on our date you fucker?” for Minty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some short, sweet Minty fluff for you Sunday night. :)

“So, why are you giving him the silent treatment again?” Bellamy asks.

Nate rolls his eyes. It’s a nice day, so he, Octavia, and Bellamy are sitting in the quad to eat lunch in the hour that they’ve all got free between classes.

It has nothing to do with the fact that Monty usually eats lunch in the quad when it’s nice out. Or that Nate has a perfect sight line to him from the picnic table that they’re sitting at.

“He blue shelled me,” Nate says, shooting a glare at Monty’s back, “on _our date_.”

“That’s fucking great,” Octavia says, laughing.

“It is not!”

She holds up her hands and grins at him. “At least you know he’s just as competitive as you are.”

Next to her, Bellamy sighs. “I can’t believe you’re giving him the silent treatment over this.”

“With all the dumb shit you’ve argued and fought and given Clarke the silent treatment about, you don’t get to judge,” Nate says, crossing his arms and leveling his glare at Bellamy.

“No, but I can judge,” Octavia says. “With how head over heels you are in love with this kid-“

“He’s older than you,” Bellamy interjects.

Octavia carries on over him, “Don’t you think you should be a little less of a dick?”

It’s quiet for a minute, Octavia raising a brow at Miller and Bellamy looking between both of them, an exasperated expression on his face.

Nate sighs, all drama. “Do you not understand that he blue shelled me?”

***

Clarke cranes her neck to look at the table Nate’s sitting at. “He’s giving you the silent treatment? Seriously?”

Monty shrugs, putting most of his effort into not turning around to look. “I blue shelled him on our date.”

“So?” Clarke asks.

“Clarke, even with your complete lack of gaming knowledge, you should know that’s an asshole move,” Raven says. Then she turns to Monty. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“I wasn’t thinking! If we weren’t on a date I would have blue shelled him, so I just did it!” Monty says. “You know how I get about Mario Kart.”

Raven kindly doesn’t bring up the time Monty tried to smother Jasper because of Mario Kart. Instead she says, “He’s definitely glaring at your back. Also, I think Octavia is laughing at him.”

Monty sighs and rests his head on his arms. Clarke pats his back.

“Okay,” he says, sitting back up and pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, “I wrote this in my Bio lab. What do you think?”

He lets Clarke and Raven read what he’s written and then watches as they exchange a look.

“Right,” Monty says, snatching the paper back from Raven, “It’s not good, but it’s the best I’ve got, so I’m gonna go do this before I lose my nerve.”

As he stands and marches across the quad he hears Raven mutter, “Do what?”

***

“He’s coming over here!” Nate hisses. And then, “Jesus, don’t turn around, Bellamy!”

“What is wrong with you?” Bellamy asks, shaking his head at Nate. “You’re giving him the silent treatment, what’s it matter if he’s coming over here?”

Nate opens his mouth to respond but then snaps it shut when Monty stops at their table, Clarke and Raven close behind him.

“I know you’re pissed at me, but I wrote you something,” Monty says. Then, he clears his throat and reads,

“ _Nate,  
I’m sorry for blue shelling you on our date  
before that it was going really great  
so I hope you’ll think it’s fate  
that I ask you to go on another at eight_.”

He takes a deep breathe once he’s done and Octavia claps. Nate shoots her a look.

Monty’s looking at Nate with hope in his eyes and a small smile on his face, so Nate rolls his eyes and says, “Of course I’ll go on another date with you. As long as we don’t play Mario Kart.”

“We’re never playing Mario Kart together again,” Monty says, grinning. He leans down to kiss Nate’s cheek and then he walks off, calling over his shoulder, “Pick you up at eight.”

Nate watches him go, a small smile on his face.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "My roommate’s boyfriend is staying over so can I please sleep on your floor?" for Bellarke.

“Again?” Bellamy asks, shirtless and bedraggled, as he opens his door and steps back to let Clarke in.

She gives him a sleepy smile, pillow hugged tight against her chest, and he tries to keep his thoughts platonic as she brushes against him when she walks past.

He closes the door behind her and turns, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best RA ever?”

“Have I ever told you to talk to your roommate about this?”

Clarke sighs, plopping down onto his futon and pulling the blanket that he’s got draped over the back of it across her shoulders.

“What’s there to talk about?” she asks. “She has a boyfriend that she really, really likes having loud, semi-public sex with and I’m not a fan of being witness to it. It’s just not one of my kinks.”

Bellamy brings a hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping that she can’t see his blush behind it.

“Maybe if you just said something to her, Clarke-”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “It’s not a big deal. You have a perfectly good futon that I can sleep on.” As if to make her point, she lays down, adjusting her pillow and curling up under the blanket.

“Alright.” They’ve done this so many times that it doesn’t even phase Bellamy anymore as he turns off his light and gets back into bed. It’s quiet for a few minutes, just the sound of their even breathing until, “What if I said something to her?”

“Bellamy.” He hears Clarke sighs and shift, the futon groaning beneath her. “It’s really not a big deal. So what if I get sexiled a few nights a week? It’s still better than living at home. And I have to live with her, I don’t wanna make it weird.”

“Because she hasn’t,” he mutters.

“Shut up,” Clarke says, fond. “I have an eight AM tomorrow, I need to get to sleep.”

“Fine,” Bellamy says. “But we’re not done talking about this.”

“Goodnight, Bellamy.”

“Night, Clarke.”

***

“I saw Clarke coming out of your room this morning,” Octavia says, dropping into the seat across from Bellamy and setting an apple in front of him.

“Hi, Octavia,” Bellamy says, not looking up from his books. “It’s good to see you, too. My morning was fine. I had a meeting with my advisor and it went well. Thanks for asking.”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Hello, big brother,” she mimics in his tone. “I’m sorry I forgot my manners, but I saw Clarke _coming out of your room this morning_.”

“You did not,” Bellamy says, still not looking up. The tips of his hears are red and Octavia grins at him, leaning across the table to poke his shoulder. “She had an eight AM, so there’s no way you saw her leave.”

“I knew it!” Octavia crows. Bellamy shushes her. “Oh, stop it, nobody else is ever back in the nerd section of the library. Tell me what happened! Monty saw her leaving.”

Bellamy finally looks up and levels his sister with a glare. “What happened is her roommate sexiled her again so she spent the night on my futon. It’s the same thing that always happens, we don’t need to have this conversation every time.”

“Yes, we do,” Octavia says, meeting his glare with a hard look of her own, “Because one of these times the reason she’s there is gonna be because you two were hooking up, and I’m not letting the opportunity to gloat about being right pass by.”

Bellamy sighs and sits back in his chair. “That’s not gonna happen, O.”

“Why not?”

“Because Clarke’s not into me.”

Octavia scoffs. “Like hell she’s not. Other people get sexiled and it’s not like they’re always knocking on your door to stay the night.”

“I’m her RA, O-“

“Oh, shut up. Even if it didn’t work out, you wouldn’t make it weird for her so that’s not an argument,” Octavia says, cutting off any more of Bellamy’s protests. “You’ve been crushing on since last semester. The school year is almost over, Bell. Do something.”

*** 

That night, Bellamy’s the one knocking on Clarke’s door.

It’s eleven o’clock, still early by college standards. Her roommate usually isn’t back until one, but Bellamy figured it might be better to get there early.

Clarke cocks her head to the side, a confused smile on her face when she opens the door.

“Was I expecting you?” she asks. She in her pajamas and there’s books scattered across her bed. She lets him in and pushes them all off to the side, gesturing for him to sit.

He does, trying to ignore how close Clarke sits next to him. “No, but I figured that your roommate will probably be back in a bit, and I thought that if I was here, she might not have loud, semi-public sex. Maybe they’re fine with doing it in front of her roommate, but it’s probably a lot weirder with her RA in the room, too.”

“And what if they still do?” Clarke asks, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Are we gonna try to one up them? Because I think I saw that on a TV show once and it didn’t work out the way it was supposed to.”

“Jesus, no,” Bellamy says. He convinces himself that the brief look of hurt that flashes across Clarke’s face is just his imagination. “I could write them up for… I don’t know, something.”

“Sounds like a super legit reason,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes at him and settling back against the wall, pulling one of her books toward her. “I’m willing to try, but I don’t think it will work. I told you, this is some kind of kink for them.”

Bellamy just settles in next to her, checking some e-mail on his phone.

It’s close to twelve-thirty when the door opens and Clarke’s roommate and her boyfriend, attached at the face, stumble in, heading straight for the roommate’s bed.

Bellamy looks up from his phone to see a smug look on Clarke’s face, her arms crossed. He clears his throat once, then again, louder, to no result.

“So, Clarke,” he says. The roommate and her boyfriend don’t even pause. Instead, they boyfriend gets one hand under her shirt and the other heads for the button on her jeans. Bellamy looks at Clarke with a mix of horror and discomfort.

Clarke arches a brow at him, all sass and challenge, and _fuck_ , Bellamy can’t help it anymore.

He leans over and kisses her, tangling a hand in her hair. Clarke doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, her hand fisting in his shirt and her lips insistent against his.

A loud moan from the other side of the room causes Bellamy to pull back and he mutters, “Yeah, this isn’t gonna work.” He stands, shoving Clarke’s pillow at her and grabbing her key off of her desk. She follows him and he slams her door behind them before taking her hand and tugging her along the hallway to his room.

When they get to his room, Bellamy backs Clarke up against his door. She drops her pillow and leans up, arms circling his neck, but he pauses.

“So, I know I’m your RA and if that was crossing a line-“

“Oh my god, shut _up_ ,” Clarke mutters, leaning up to kiss him. Bellamy kisses her back for a minute before pulling away.

“That wasn’t-,” he says. “I like you, Clarke. I wasn’t trying to like, one up your roommate-“

“Yeah,” Clarke says, cutting him off, “If you were trying to match them moan for moan, it probably would’ve worked out better if we stayed in my room.”

“Seriously-“

“Relax, Bellamy.” Clarke leans up to peck his lips, before pulling back and smiling at him. “I like you, too. Why else would I be in here all the time, sleeping on your shitty futon? I was waiting for you to invite me to sleep in your shitty dorm bed instead.”

“You could’ve been clearer about that,” Bellamy says. “I’m your RA, I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m uncomfortable right now,” Clarke says, shooting him a grin slipping out of his grip and moving toward his bed. “Why don’t we more somewhere more comfortable for this?”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “You’re afraid that you’ll lose me in big crowds so you always hold my hand but now you just hold my hand when there’s only, like, five people around and I’m getting vry suspicious” for Bellarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, babes. The last drabble in this collection. I'll be posting a oneshot in honor of show day tomorrow and I've got some other stuff in the works, but this work is officially complete. Thanks so much for all of your comments and kudos and prompts on here! I hope you'll check out some of my other stuff, too. :)

Bellamy knows that Clarke is starting to get suspicious. It was only a matter of time – Octavia and Miller have been raising their eyebrows at him for weeks and Raven keeps grinning and making a gesture that Bellamy is pretty sure is obscene every time Clarke turns her back.

But now that’s he’s started, Bellamy can’t stop.

Honestly, he’s fucking pathetic. He shouldn’t be this much of a mess about _holding Clarke’s hand_.

It started when Monty and Miller wanted to go to Free Comic Book Day. Bellamy had never seen so many pushy, determined nerds and it was mildly terrifying. He’d grabbed Clarke’s hand so that he wouldn’t lose her in the crowd, the same way he’s done with all of his friends at one time or another.

Alright, he probably would’ve just grabbed Miller’s arm or put his hand on the small of Raven’s back, but still. It started out completely platonic.

Then Octavia had wanted to go to some summer festival thing for her Instagram aesthetic and Bellamy didn’t know any of the bands and all the booze was way too expensive. He didn’t consciously think “Oh, these huge crowds are a great excuse to hold Clarke’s hand again” but somehow that’s what happened.

After that it was A Thing. Any time they were in a crowd, he would grab Clarke’s hand with the excuse that he didn’t want to lose her. So what if he didn’t let go when the crowds thinned out? Octavia had given him a long pep talk once she caught on and whenever Miller caught sight of their intertwined hands he sighed pointedly, but Clarke still wasn’t calling him out on it, so he wasn’t going to stop.

Which was a great plan until she actually called him out on it.

They’re at a carnival, which Octavia insisted on going to. The rest of the group is waiting in line for the Tilt-a-Whirl while Bellamy and Clarke look for funnel cakes, so of course he grabs her hand as they make their way through the crowd.

“You know, the crowd isn’t that big,” Clarke says, swinging their hands a bit. “I don’t think you’re actually at risk of losing me here.”

Bellamy can feel himself starting to flush but – he doesn’t want to let go of her hand. Instead of taking the out, he snorts, saying, “You don’t know all of my childhood traumas, Clarke. Maybe I lost Octavia at a carnival once and now I have a fear of getting separated from people in this hellscape.”

“Did you?” Clarke asks, interest written across her face. “Because that would explain a lot about your weird hatred for carnivals.”

“No,” he admits. “I’ve just never really liked carnivals. I always had a fear of losing Octavia here. She used to run off all the time.”

“Sounds like her,” Clarke says. She takes a deliberate pause before continuing. “So, you’re just holding my hand to hold my hand then?”

Bellamy loosens his grip, “Sorry. I can stop.”

“No!” Bellamy thinks Clarke blushes a bit as she says, “It’s fine, you can hold my hand whenever you want.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They fall silent, still walking, their interlaced hands swinging between them.

Bellamy keeps his eyes ahead as he clears his throat and says, “You know, I don’t just want to hold your hand.”

“You don’t?” Clarke tugs him to a stop and he turn to look at her.

“No,” Bellamy says. “I mean, I want to hold your hand basically all the time, but I also want to kiss you and date you and-“

Clarke cuts him off with her lips and he catches her around the waist with his free hand, pulling her in closer to him.

She pulls back first, smiling up at him and rolling her eyes when he looks at her. “You fucking dork,” she says, fond. “Do you know how hard it is to figure out if someone is just making excuses to hold your hand or if they’re actually concerned about crowds? You should have just asked me out.”

Bellamy grins at her, leaning down again. “But then we would have missed out on so much quality hand holding.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me some prompts or just come commiserate with me on [tumblr](http://fitnessandfandom.tumblr.com/ask) abt how unfair it is that we have to wait eight months between seasons and then have to deal with this month-long, mid-season hiatus bullshit.


End file.
